Red As Blood
by Eniko151
Summary: Set after Age of Ultron. Wanda's Power has been duplicated by foreign scientists. The Avengers have a look at one of their experimental buildings with some unintended consequences. (Not entirely sure if this is a proper crossover but i'm just calling it that) Featuring- Pietro Maximoff (survived thanks to extensive medical care), Wanda Maximoff and Bucky Barnes.
1. Chapter 1

It was dark.  
So dark. The black night engulfed the world with its cruel silence. The icy wind stirred cracked, brown leaves on the concrete ground. A figure crept up to the door of the square, metal building, using the shadows as cover. He gave the door an experimental push; suspiciously surprised when it opened easily. He cast a quick look over his shoulder, to double check if he was being followed, and slipped into the building. Inside was a single huge room.

A large, grey slab of stone, with some undone leather straps attached to it, was in the centre. It looked roughly like a bed but it held an unexplained, dark aura that made the man shudder. The room was bordered with tables and cabinets, holding various objects such as computers and files and bottles of nasty looking luminous liquid. The man pulled an arrow out of the quiver on his back and notched it in his slender, black bow, resting two fingers on either side of the slim cylinder. He drew back the shining, black string slightly. Even though there was no enemy in sight, he still felt wary towards the question raising building.

He stiffened as quiet, rushed footsteps echoed behind him. Too late he whipped round, lifting his bow and pulling the string all the way back to his cheek. A heavy slam to the forehead knocked him down. Falling backwards to the ground, he loosed an arrow into the shadows before he hit the floor, head smacking on the hard surface. Skinny arms dragged his unconscious body away, causing his black ear piece to drop onto the dusty ground.

"Barton? Do you copy? Agent Barton?"

* * *

Clint flickered open his eyes.

He winced as a harsh light shined down from above him. There were leather straps wrapped around his wrists and ankles, tight on his skin. A cannula was stuck in his exposed forearm, slowly seeping a dull red liquid into his body. He tensed, straining on the leather straps as he attempted to break free. He glanced around the room. He was lying on the stone slab, facing the large metal door. Five or six scientists and a few men in threatening uniforms, probably some sorts of agents, surrounded the room, the scientists experimenting with medicine or researching something on computers, the agents standing arms folded, watching them closely.

Clint struggled on the stone, bunching the muscles in his arms and legs until he began to tremble with the effort. One of the men yelled something in a foreign language that Clint did not understand and rushed to the slab. He leant over Clint, pulling out a gun, shouting something which was definitely a threat. Clint head butted him in the face, causing dark, blood to spurt from the agent's nose. A clenched fist met Clint's cheek and he grunted in pain as the man pummelled him over and over again. A grey haired scientist took the man by his shoulder, forcing him away. He whispered something urgently in a heavy accent. Scarlet dripped into Clint's eyes, flowing from a fresh cut above his right eye. His face was bruised and bloody from the uniformed man's continuous beatings; he spat out some blood from his mouth, glaring defiantly up at the agent. Two scientists came up to him and began to fumble about with the cannula. They leapt back on Clint's every move or noise as if they were scared he would hurt them. The scientists injected another red liquid, this time glowing like the brightest moon, into the cannula on his right forearm. It rushed through his blood, flowing like a raging river. Clint opened his mouth as he felt his throat close up, gasping for breath as the scientists shouted to one another, panicking. He writhed about on the stone slab, eyes shut tightly, his thrashing was limited by the straps and he strained against them until he was sure they would snap or his wrists would break. His eyes shot open, flashing red.

 ** _'CRACK'_**

The room exploded in red mist. The scientists and agents were thrown against the wall, falling to the floor and not getting up. Clint rolled off the side of the stone slab, landing on his hands and knees, coughing and panting heavily. He scrambled up, leaning on the stone which came up to his hips, picking the cannula out of his arm like a thorn.

"Well that was spectacular."

Clint spun round to face the back of the room and his breath caught in his throat. Standing on the other side of the stone slab was Bucky Barnes.

* * *

Clint was so shocked that all he could do for a moment was stare stupidly. _Bucky? It's Bucky!_ He let the realisation sink in. The Avengers had been trying to find him since they had dealt with Ultron. Mission after mission they had searched for him; often running into trouble which had nothing to do with the winter soldier. Bucky glared at him coldly, his scraggy brown hair drifting across his menacing eyes. He flexed his metal arm, not taking his eyes off the archer. In a flash he had vaulted over the stone, gripping his silver hand round Clint's neck. Clint, mouth gaping, vainly tried to force him off, grabbing Bucky's wrist with his hands. The winter soldier seemed not to notice his struggles and easily lifted Clint off the ground by the neck. Clint was finding it harder and harder to breathe, dizzy and lightheaded, aiming a few kicks at Bucky with his dangling legs. He attempted to gulp in another mouthful of the cold crisp air but the metal hand had blocked his windpipe. His chest heaved as he fought to lift the pressure on his throat. He aimed a last flailing arm at Bucky before he felt his heart stop beating, vision clouding with darkness and his head rolled back, exposing his crushed neck to the night.


	2. Chapter 2

"Steve. Come on. Let us go in." Natasha begged the soldier. "Clint's in trouble. I know it."

"I agree with Natasha." Pietro interrupted before Steve could reply.

Steve held up a hand to them, gesturing for silence. "Barton." He spoke into the ear piece. "Do you copy? Agent Barton?"

The group waited, in the shadows to the left side of the building, tensely for a reply but none came. Natasha turned towards the building and loaded her gun. Pietro pulled out the long, blue tinted, curved knife from its sheath on his waist. Pietro zoomed towards the door, lighting up the darkness with a silver streak. Natasha, Steve and Wanda followed more slowly, running behind him. Pietro waited for them at the entrance to the metal building. As they approached he kicked it open and sprinted in. What he saw made his heart leap to his throat. Bucky, the winter soldier was standing in the centre of the large square room, holding up Barton by the neck with his metal arm. The archer dangled limply in his tight grasp. Natasha lifted an arm and fired a bullet at Bucky. He dodged it easily and turned to glare at her, throwing Barton's body against the right wall of the room. He hit the metal surface with a loud thump and fell to the ground, face down. Bucky ran at Natasha and Steve. Captain America threw his shield at his old friend, lodging it in his metal arm. Pietro sped over to Barton, sheathing his knife as he ran, Wanda following. He skidded to a halt beside Clint and crouched beside him, the sound of the fighting dimmed, all his attention fixed on the injured man. The wound on the back of his head from hitting the wall was welling with blood. Pietro grasped Clint's shoulder, forcing him onto his back. The archer's neck and face was bruised; he had a cut above his right eye and on his bottom lip. Both the wounds were fresh and blood oozed from them. Pietro rested his head on Clint's chest, listening for a heartbeat. He fought back tears and raised Clint's limp arm, running a hand briefly over an injection mark before pressing two fingers to his wrist.

The world appeared to stop. Pietro cast a grief-stricken look at his sister, kneeled next to him.

"He's dead."

* * *

Wanda's eyes widened in shock and Pietro bowed his head, overcome with sorrow as tears streamed down his face. Wanda flung her arms around her brother's neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Pietro shut his eyes, unable to go on looking at Clint's body. Then he gasped, opening his wet, blue eyes.

"Wanda. Wanda!" He urged his sister to look at him. She raised her head, brushing the tears off her cheeks. "You can save him."

Wanda shook her head sadly. "I c-can't." She stuttered.

"Please Wanda!" Pietro pleaded through his tears.

She looked at her brother and swallowed, realising how much Clint meant to him. "Okay. Okay. I'll try."

She drew in a deep shuddering breath and closed her eyes, circling her hands. Scarlet mist encased her hands. She held her hands about 10 centimetres apart from each other. They trembled as red mist travelled from one to the other like wind. Pietro watched her anxiously as she lowered a hand to Clint's chest. She hovered it above his heart, her power flowing into his body. His veins lit up red. Pietro frowned, wondering if this was part of the ritual but he did not ask as his sister was deep in concentration. Her hand began to glow red.

"Pietro get back! All of you behind Captain's shield!" She yelled.

Pietro zoomed back to the others; Steve had got Bucky, his unconscious body back in the van they had used to get here. Steve had heard Wanda's warning and, as Pietro reached him and Natasha, he forced both of them down and held up his shield in front of them. Wanda put her hand on Clint's heart. Red washed the room, sweeping over the floor like a tsunami.

* * *

The impact forced Steve, Nat and Pietro back a few metres. Clint sat bolt upright, gasping in a long breath before turning to his side and collapsing on the ground in a loud, painful coughing fit. Wanda stood up, her hands trembling slightly, staring at Clint as if she couldn't believe what had just happened. Pietro leapt up and raced over.

"Are you alright? Wanda?" He asked his sister, anxiously, pulling her into a tight hug.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." She assured him, returning his act of compassion.

She suddenly pulled out of the hug, her gaze fixed on the floor behind him. Pietro whipped around and gasped, sprinting to kneel beside Clint. The Archer was heaving short, shuddering breaths from where he lay on his side on the ground. Pietro turned him over, lifting his shoulders off the floor with an arm. He held his head up and looked at him closely. Clint's eyes were open but glazed; they stared at nothing.

"Barton... Clint?!" Pietro called desperately to the shocked Archer.

Clint shut his eyes, shaking violently in Pietro's arms.

"Clint? Can you hear me? Breathe deeply. It's going to be okay." Pietro reassured him quietly, trying to sound confident even though he felt blood from Clint's head dripping through his fingers.

Clint regained control, taking a few deep gulping gasps, opening his eyes, his gaze wandering about the room. He finally fixed his wide eyes above him.

"P-Pietro?" He whispered, barely loud enough to hear.

Pietro forced a weak smile. "I'm here. No, don't try to talk." He added as Clint let out a quiet murmur, attempting to say something.

Wanda crouched down beside him and placed a hand on the archer's forehead. Clint made a soft sighing noise and his eyelids fluttered shut. Pietro felt Clint's body relax as he fell into a deep slumber. Steve came over, slinging his shield on his back, and leant down, gently picking Clint up in his muscly arms. A puddle of blood was left where his head had been. Pietro got to his feet and followed Steve out of the building. Natasha unplugged her memory stick from a computer and gathered up a few files before running after them. As they stepped out into the frosty night air, Wanda took hold of Pietro's hand. She drew back sharply at the wet touch and glanced down at her fingers. They were coated with blood. She grabbed his wrist and forced his hand open. It was soaked in dark scarlet.

"Are you hurt?!" She asked worriedly, pressing a hand to his chest.

Pietro shook his head and mumbled. "It's Clint's."

Wanda took her hand away and swallowed, wiping the blood on her dress. She walked round the corner of the building, Pietro at her side. The black van came into view. The back doors were open and Pietro and Wanda clambered in. Two black benches bordered either side. The front was visible through a metal square of wire mesh. Steve was already in there, laying Clint on the right side bench. Bucky was sprawled on the floor in front of the right bench. Steve cast a forlorn look at his friend and climbed out the back, shutting the doors and throwing them into darkness.

A couple of moments later the engine roared to life and Steve and Natasha's heads became visible behind the mesh as the dim lights flicked on. Pietro rummaged through the medical kit in the back of the Van as Wanda sat down on the left bench. Pietro stepped, carefully, over Bucky and sat near the front of the van, on the right, beside Clint's head. He lifted it onto his lap and pressed a small towel-like bandage to the back of Clint's head. It quickly became soaked in blood and Pietro wrung it into a small bowl, once again putting the towel on his head. The van sped along the long winding road, within minutes entering the glowing city and heading towards the Avengers tower.

 **A/N- Too long? Let me know in the reviews if you'd prefer it shorter or longer or if its about the right length.**


	3. Chapter 3

Memories flashed in Clint's head like lightning. Needles filled with red liquid, Bucky's cold glare, Steve's Shield, Pietro's anxious expression. He dimly noticed a sharp pain in the back of his head and his neck felt sore and bruised, as though he had fallen from a great height and broken it. He suddenly realised something. Something he hadn't realised before.  
He was breathing; heart pounding.

He was alive.

A noise mumbled close to his ear and he flinched away. The voice sounded again, further away this time and another answered it. Clint could not make out the words but he understood the urgency behind them. He felt a hand touch his arm and he batted it away, feebly. A different voice sounded, softer and quieter than the others. Clint lifted an arm to feel his neck, pausing when his fingers touched a hard, plastic surface. He blinked open his eyes drowsily. His sight was fuzzy at first and he blinked a couple of times to clear it.

He was in a hospital bed, lying on his back, legs stretched out in front of him. From the waist down, his legs and hips, was covered in a thin, light blue blanket. His torso was bare, topless, and he shivered as a small, cold gust of air entered the room. It was daytime, sunlight streaming through the small, square window on the top right of the right wall. Clint's bed was pointing towards the door; it was open. Wanda stood in the entrance. She walked into the room and Clint looked up, bringing his hand down and resting it on his stomach. He raised his head off the soft, white pillow, dropping it back down again as he began to tremble with the effort and the neck brace pinched his skin. Wanda stopped by his bed and smiled down at him. Clint let out a tiny exhale of laughter and smiled back at her.

"How are you?" She asked, trying to keep her face neutral.

"C-" He broke off as a throaty cough gripped him. "Could be better." He admitted.

"Could be better." Wanda echoed, mumbling. "You can say that again."

"Hmm..." Clint agreed.

"Do you know what happened?" She asked, carefully.

Clint, thought for a moment and nodded. "I was investigating a building. And… I think someone knocked me out and…" He paused for a moment. "They experimented on me."

This caught Wanda off guard. "Experimented? What?"

"They injected me with… red… And then I can't remember anything else apart from Bucky… strangling me." He swallowed and looked expectantly up at Wanda.

She frowned. "Injection? With a red liquid?"

"Mmhm." Clint confirmed, rubbing a hand under his neck brace. "Oh and I think I was in a truck for a bit too, might have been the van we went in but I don't know."

"Yeah. You were unconscious for most of that." Wanda gave him a thoughtful look and held out her arm. "Give me your hand."

Clint looked confused but raised his arm and rested his right hand in Wanda's. She turned to over so his wrist was face up. She ran a hand down his forearm, making him wince when it brushed the mark where he had been injected.

"Sorry." Wanda muttered and then warned. "This might hurt a bit."

She pressed her index finger to his wrist, eyes glowing red. Clint made a quiet noise of distress and clenched his fists. Wanda began to assure him it was alright before something made her frown, mouth falling open. Clint's veins were glowing red, the same red as Wanda's powers. Clint gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and Wanda dropped his arm back on the bed. Clint let out a quiet gasp, as it fell, his heart aching. Wanda took a remote off the table next to Clint's head and pressed a button, raising the back of the bed. She arranged his pillow into a more comfortable position, Clint rubbing a hand on his chest, decreasing the pain stabbing his heart.

Wanda put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "I'll be back in a minute." She said, looking like she had been struck by a brilliant idea. "Don't go anywhere." She told him, grinning.

Clint murmured that he wasn't planning on moving as Wanda left the room. He closed his eyes, the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He was planning on waiting for Wanda to come back so he could ask her what she went to do but he soon felt his eyelids drooping. He fought to stay awake but his eyes fluttered shut and he fell into an uneasy sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Darkness. Cold gripping, chilling darkness.

It surrounded Clint like water. He fought his way upwards, struggling to break free. He felt something wrap around his neck, dragging him down, deeper and deeper. Finding himself unable to breathe, he flailed his arms, trying to loosen the things grip, but it held on, tighter still. The hold on his neck strengthened, blocking his wind pipe. He whisked around, trying to glimpse his attacker but no matter how much he turned in either direction there was nothing but black.

Pietro ran up to the unconscious man, looking on helplessly as Clint writhed on the bed, which was flat down now, his body convulsing. His fast, irregular breathing caught in his throat, his chest heaving. He rolled to each side, eyes flickering, making small noises of distress.

"C-Clint?" Pietro said, hesitantly. "Clint!" His voice grew stronger. "Clint, wake up!"

The archer clenched his fists, shaking and twisting on the bed. As Pietro's hand touched his arm, Clint sat up, eyes wide, flicking his arm out to the side. Red mist shot out of his hand, causing Pietro to be thrown across the room. He hit the left wall with a crash and fell to the floor, there he lay, unmoving. Clint took deep gulping breaths, ripping the neck brace off and rolling onto the floor. He scrambled into a sitting position, knees up, with his back against the wall beside the bed. His whole body was trembling; he looked down at his shaking hand, turning it over and over, eyes wide with shock.

* * *

A moment later, a moment that could have latest a hundred years or a single heartbeat, the door banged open and Wanda ran in. She noticed Clint first, huddled against the wall to the right of the bed, staring at his left hand. Her eyes rested on him and she started forwards before a groan sounded to her right. She whipped around and gasped. Pietro was on the ground, his back to her, facing the wall. As she watched, frozen, he stirred and pushed himself up with his arms. Wanda raced over, kneeling in front of him.

"Pietro? Are you ok? What happened?" The questions poured out as he rubbed a hand to his forehead.

Pietro nodded and replied quietly. "I'm alright. I…" He broke off and his eyes widened. "Oh god, Clint!" He scrambled to his feet and ran over to Clint, who was still staring at his hand in utter shock.

He looked up as Pietro crouched beside him, his eyes glistening with sadness. "What did I do?" He whispered, looking distraught.

Pietro hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. Are you alright?"

Clint looked at his hand again, frowning. "I-I don't know." He paused. "Why don't I know what happened?"

"It's one of the first stages." Wanda said before Pietro could answer.

"What?" Pietro looked confused. "You know what's going on?"

"Clint. You need to be calm now. Alright?" Wanda kneeled in front of him, beside her brother. When Clint didn't reply she continued, choosing her words carefully. "You said you'd been injected by those scientists. Well… I found out what they did to you."

Clint's interest sharpened and he leaned off the wall slightly towards Wanda. She self-consciously tucked a strand of wavy, brown hair behind her ear.

"You've got… You've got my power."

Clint blinked a few times, mouth falling open slightly. "What?" He said; his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

"What?" Pietro echoed, staring at his sister.

"The building we were investigating… Bucky appears to be working for them. And the scientists there seem to have somehow managed to duplicate my power. Maybe by accident, maybe not. I guess they needed someone to test it on. I doubt they realised who you were…" Her voice trailed off as Clint buried his face in his hands.

"You okay?" Pietro asked.

"No. I'm a danger." Clint muttered.

"No you're not." Wanda said, her surprisingly firm voice making Clint look up. "You can learn to control it, like I did. I'll help you and soon, with enough practice, you'll be able to use it how you wish."

Clint looked uncertain. "Are you saying I'll forget what I do?"

Wanda shook her head. "Not all the time. Just for the first few weeks the power will be unstable and you might forget certain events. These weeks are usually filled with bad dreams too." She finished, her eyes glazed by distant memory.

Pietro laid a hand on his sister's shoulder, clearly also remembering their time spent in the hydra base. Clint looked down at his arm and brushed a hand along the injection mark on his forearm.

"I'm afraid we can't change it. But we can help you Clint." Wanda told him.

"This is who you are now. And we'll be beside you, every step of the way."


	5. Chapter 5

"Let me try again."

Wanda hesitated. "You shouldn't over do it."

"It's fine. I can do it."

They were stood in the 'party deck', as Tony called it. Wanda was staring at Clint with a concerned expression. Pietro was beside her, his arms folded, a dubious look on his face. Clint stretched out his right arm, fixing his eyes on the small stone Wanda had brought for him to practice on. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, hand pointing at the pebble. The stone remained as stubborn as ever, not even twitching from where it lay on the ground.

He glared at it and blew out a quiet breath, attempting to stay calm. He tried to picture the power flowing through his blood down his arm. A red mist gathered around his hand; he forced himself not to flinch. He twisted his hand slightly, aiming at the stone. Wanda gasped and Pietro unfolded his arms, straightening up in surprise as the grey pebble lifted off the ground. Clint began to breathe heavily, noisily, as the stone rose further into the air. His arm trembled, his breathing ragged. He flung his arm down, breaking concentration with the stone and staggering backwards, falling to the ground.

"Clint! Are you ok?"

Clint blinked open his eyes. Wanda and Pietro's faces stared down at him anxiously. He lifted his head off the ground, groaning. He quickly sat up a fraction before Wanda's hand held him back.

"Slowly. Slowly." She warned.

He sat upright, cross-legged, his movements less hurried. Clint raised his hands, massaging his temples, squeezing his eyes tight shut. Wanda bit her lip, worried.

"Are you ok?" She repeated.

"I…" He broke off and his hand flew to his heart as a sharp pain stabbed it.

He leant over, head to his knee. As he trembled and grunted in pain, Wanda laid a hand on his back, shaking him desperately.

"Clint!?"

He sat up, clearly in pain, fixing Wanda with a wide eyed stare.

"Run." He choked out the word.

Wanda gasped as she realised what was happening. She sprang up, grabbing her brother, ignoring his protests and pulled him behind the sofa. The room washed with red. Pietro and Wanda shut their eyes tightly. The red light seemed to dissolve; silence followed it. Pietro waited for a moment longer before opening his eyes. He leapt up, Wanda beside him. They exchanged a scared look and ran over to Clint. The archer was on his hands and knees, coughing and panting heavily. Pietro reached him first, knelt beside him. Dark, scarlet blood dripped from Clint's mouth onto the floor. He raised a hand to his mouth, groaning as he saw that it was wet with red. He felt Pietro's hand on his shoulder and he sat up slowly onto his knees. Pietro was watching him, his expression clouded with unguarded concern.

"You alright?"

Clint moaned, wiping a hand to his forehead. "Y-yeah. I'm fine."

Wanda crouched on his other side. "I said not to overdo it." She muttered.

"I know. Sorry." Clint acknowledged her with a tiny nod of his head. "But it worked didn't it?"

"Yeah. You did well. We won't try it again today though, maybe tomorrow." She added as Clint began to protest.

Pietro stood up, reaching out a hand to Clint. He took it, rubbing his neck as he got on his feet. Wanda leapt up, casting Clint a quick smile. Pietro raced across the room, holding open the door for Clint and Wanda. They, side by side, made their way back to the hospital room.

* * *

"Is he in there? How is he?"

Steve Rogers walked up to one of the laboratory rooms on a high floor of the Avengers tower. A doctor and Natasha were stood outside of the room, discussing something in hushed voices. Steve knew they were speaking about Bucky. The winter soldier was strapped to a chair in the middle of the room. He stared at the ground a mixture of confusion and anger etched on his face. Natasha looked up as Steve approached.

"Disorientated and stubborn." She answered his question bluntly.

She looked frustrated and disappointed in Bucky's lack of co-operation. Steve couldn't blame her. He and Bucky used to be best friends. He had thought him dead for a long time. But Bucky had miraculously survived his fall, only to have his mind wiped completely by Hydra. Steve had thought things would be different now. Steve had almost died due to Hydra plot to 'free the world' as they described it. It was really thanks to Bucky that he was standing there. Steve reached his hand out, grasping the handle of the door. Natasha put her hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

"I wouldn't." She warned.

Steve smiled sadly and sighed. "Neither would I."

He pushed open the door, ignoring the stuttering protests from the doctor and walked into the room. Inside the light was on, but it was weak and dim. Steve shut the door, not taking his eyes off Bucky, who was still staring stubbornly at the ground. Steve crouched in front of his old friend, looking up into his hollow eyes. Bucky flicked his gaze to Steve.

"Bucky…"

"I. Am. Not. Bucky!" He growled, flexing his metal hand.

"Then who are you?" Steve asked, his voice gentle.

Bucky dropped his head back, eyes looking to the ceiling. Steve edged towards him a fraction.

"If you come one step closer I swear I'll…"

Bucky's voice trailed off and he frowned, blinking in confusion. He lifted his head, looking back at Steve. His gaze wandered to the side, fixing at a point on the floor, his brow furrowed.

"Bucky? Are you okay?" Steve asked, hesitantly.

"Steven… Grant… Rogers." Bucky said slowly, turning his head back to Steve. "You son of a bitch."

"Wha- What?" Steve stuttered, shocked.

"I… I understand." He muttered. He met Steve's gaze. "I remember you."


	6. Chapter 6

Clint sat on the edge of his bed. He tugged on his shirt collar and rubbed a hand to his neck. He sighed, twiddling with his hands. It was night. Everyone else had retreated to their rooms a couple of hours ago. Clint guessed they were asleep. No one stayed up this late, apart from maybe Tony. He was usually up, 'tinkering'. But Clint wanted to be alone.

He focused on a book laid on a table in the corner of the room, lifting his arm out in front of him. He narrowed his eyes in concentration. Red gathered around his hand and he flinched slightly. As he raised his hand the book floated into the air. He made it fly over to him with a wave of his hand. Lifting his other hand he fixed his eyes on the book, which was now hovering in front of him. He flicked his left hand away, forcefully, ripping a page out of the book with his powers. He dropped his hands down in shock, the book and its torn page falling to the ground with a loud bang.

Clint stood up, leaping off the bed as the door opened. Pietro ran in, skidding to a halt a few paces away from Clint, his hair sticking out all over the place.

"I heard a bang. Is everything ok?" He asked.

The words tumbled out so fast they were almost inaudible; it took Clint a few moments to process them. Surprisingly touched by the younger man's concern, Clint blinked a few times before dragging his eyes away from the book.

"I'm… Y-yeah. I'm fine." He replied, shock making him stutter.

Pietro looked at him carefully and Clint forced himself not to flinch under the icy gaze.

"Have you been using your powers again?"

Clint opened his mouth to deny but he found himself unable to lie and simply nodded. He expected an outburst of anger from Pietro but he only closed his eyes, sitting down on the bed. Pietro brushed a hand over his hair and opened his eyes to look at Clint.

"Clint… You shouldn't try it without Wanda."

Clint sat beside him and sighed. "Yeah, I know. But I did it… I can control it now." He assured Pietro, gesturing to the book.

"I'm not sure you should…" His voice trailed off as Clint raised his right hand, pointing it at the book, laid face up, open on the ground.

He lifted it slowly, the book lifting with it, shrouded in red mist. Pietro blinked in a silent interest. Breathing elevated, Clint flicked his hand to the side, throwing the book against the wall and letting it fall to the floor. He looked back to Pietro who was staring at the book, mouth open.

"Now do you believe me?" Clint questioned, panting slightly.

"Never said I didn't." replied Pietro, with a tiny shake of his head.

Clint shut his eyes, looking away. He began to feel lightheaded and he leant back, shifting his weight to his arms. Pietro looked at him, his eyes narrowed in concern.

"You should go to sleep." He advised.

"Mmhm… Good idea." Clint admitted, nodding.

"Give me a shout if you… I don't know… need any help." Pietro offered; feeling embarrassed.

Clint murmured in acknowledgment and Pietro left the room. Clint got up, walking across the room and picking up the book. Throwing it on a nearby chair, he went back and got onto the bed. He laid his head down on the pillow, wincing at the pain in his neck. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes, pondering. He finally decided he should get some rest. Sighing, he closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

"N-No… I'm-I'm not… What? Am I Bucky? No… Yes? I-I can't..."

"Bucky. Calm down."

The winter soldier shook his head furiously, straining on the straps. Steve reached out a hand and put it on his knee. A metal arm broke free, snapping the strap holding it and Bucky swiped it in Steve's direction. He leapt back just in time to avoid the flailing hand. Straightening up, he moved back towards his friend.

"Bucky. Listen…"

He broke off as Bucky flung a fist at him. Reflexes kicked in and Steve caught it; gripping Bucky's clenched metal hand in his. They both struggled, trying to overpower the other. Flinging their arms down at the same time, Steve fell backwards onto the floor as Bucky hung limply in his bonds. Steve hesitantly scrambled over to his friend. Bucky looked up, breathing heavily even though he didn't appear to be hurt.

"Hey… Are you alright?" Steve asked, unsure if Bucky would answer.

The winter soldier squeezed his eyes tight shut, shaking his head as though emerging from deep water. He groaned, raising a hand to his head. The door opened and Natasha poked her head in. Her eyes widened when she saw that one of Bucky's arms was free but Steve waved her away.

 _'I've got it. I've got it. Go.'_ He mouthed to her, worried that Bucky would become even more confused if he saw her again.

Natasha cast him an anxious look; nevertheless she shut the door quietly. Turning back to Bucky, Steve saw that he was looking around the room, his expression anxious and confused.

"Wh-where am I?" He questioned, seeming not to notice Steve.

"You're in New York city in the Avengers tower." Steve said, comfortingly.

"Avengers tower?"

"A big building in new York owned by Tony stark, Howard stark's son." He explained.

"Tony Star…" His voice trailed off as his gaze fixed on Steve. "Steven? What the hell are you doing here? What am I doing here?" He asked, struggling against the bonds, suddenly becoming aware that he was strapped to a chair. "What's going on?"

Steve was still thoroughly shocked that Bucky knew who he was and he blew out a quiet breath. "This is going to take a while."


	7. Chapter 7

"So, long story short we won the war."

Steve nodded. "Yes. Basically."

Bucky ran his metal hand over the strap binding his other wrist to the chair. "What are these for?" He asked, gesturing at the bonds on his ankles.

Steve hesitated. He was sat on a chair in front of Bucky's, choosing his words carefully as he spoke to his friend. He hadn't mentioned anything about what had happened to Bucky and he was sure that his friend was itching to ask. But he wanted Bucky to stay in this frame of mind forever, seeming to remember everything before his 'mind wiping'. Then they could go back to being friends again. Reluctantly reminding himself that Bucky nearly killed Clint, Steve clenched his jaw.

"What is it?" Bucky asked, clearly sensing something was wrong.

Steve shook his head, not wanting to confuse Bucky further. "Nothing."

Bucky did an _'I seriously doubt that'_ kind of face but he said nothing. He looked up, quickly, as the door opened, frowning in confusion as Natasha walked in. She went over to Steve, leaning down to whisper something in his ear. Bucky saw Steve shake his head and he narrowed his eyes. What were they talking about?

* * *

Natasha glanced at Bucky before speaking Steve in a hushed voice. "I don't think you should be in here. He's dangerous."

Steve shook his head. "He's not. He remembers me. I…" He broke off as Natasha interrupted him.

"Yes but for how long. He could forget at any moment. Remember he killed Clint."

"I know but Clint's not dead is he."

"That's not the point." Natasha's voice rose and Bucky cast her a suspicious glance. "He did it. He could kill you too. He's really unstable and you know it." She insisted, lowering her voice.

"You think I don't know that." Steve growled, leaping up, not bothering to keep his voice quiet.

Bucky watched them with a sort of worried interest. He attempted to break free of the bonds without the woman noticing. She didn't seem to trust him and he wanted to find out why.

"I'm pretty sure you do know." Natasha loudly flashed back at Steve. "Just your ignorance to truth does not allow you to see past your own head."

Steve clenched his fists, obviously making a huge effort to control his anger. "You don't know him." He said in a hushed voice. "Not like I do."

"Steve you know what he's done. You know how many people he's killed." Natasha whispered back, lowering her voice so Bucky would not hear.

"That wasn't his fault." Steve argued. "You're well aware that wasn't him."

Natasha opened her mouth to retort but someone clearing their throat made her whip around.

Bucky was stood, free of his straps which now lay, broken, on the floor. "I think it's about time you told me the truth." He muttered, his words directed at Steve.

Natasha reached for her pistol, pulling it out of its hold. She cocked it and Bucky took a small step back. Steve watched her, shocked. Bucky frowned as he locked gazes with Nat.

"I know you." He murmured. "From somewhere…" His voice trailed off, eyes glittering with confusion.

Suddenly Bucky dropped to his knees, clutching his hands to his head. Steve ran over, crouching down beside him, dimly aware of Natasha sprinting out of the room.

"No, no, no! Stop it. STOP!" Bucky yelled, his eyes tight shut, shaking his head.

"Bucky? What's wrong?" Steve asked, trying to keep his voice level.

"Stop it!" Bucky pleaded again, seeming to be talking to someone only he could see. "It's hurts!"

The door banged open and Natasha ran back in, something grasped in her right hand. She forced Bucky onto his back, pinning him to the ground. He struggled as she planted a hand on his shoulder, preventing him from escaping. While Bucky squirmed beneath her, Natasha adjusted her grip on the object in her hand. It was an injection needle.

She raised her hand, swiping a strand of hair away from her face. Ignoring Steve's arguments she stuck the needle into the side of Bucky's neck. He made a choking noise in the back of his throat as she pushed in the liquid, his struggles becoming weaker. Pushing Natasha off of Bucky, Steve scrambled over to his friend. He was panting, hard, his chest heaving, eyes wide. Steve pulled the, half in, needle out of his neck.

"Bucky? Can you hear me?" Steve called. He turned to Natasha furiously. "What did you do?"

"What I had to." Natasha answered, unhelpfully, from where she was knelt on the floor.

Turning back to Bucky, Steve saw that he was struggling to keep his eyes open. He swallowed, gasping in the air, fixing his unfocused gaze on Steve. He parted his mouth to speak but no words came and he let out a quiet sigh. Eyes rolling back and flickering shut, his head fell to the side.

Hurriedly, Steve put two fingers on Bucky's neck, feeling for a pulse. He whispered to himself, pleading to god and silently thanked him as a weak beat vibrated through his fingers.

"He's fine. He's just asleep." Natasha's voice murmured close to his ear.

Suddenly she found herself pinned against the wall, Steve's arm on her throat. Although it was not interfering with her breathing, it was enough to make her gasp in shock. She searched Steve's eyes, finding a deep pool of anger.

"Steve let me go." She ordered, commandingly.

"Next time Romanoff…" He pressed harder against her neck, making her struggle. "Stay out of it."


	8. Chapter 8

"Look… I'm sorry alright?"

Natasha didn't look up. She was busy flicking through some notes from the building they had found Bucky in. It was early in the morning and Natasha was sitting in a lab near Bucky's 'room', but she had not slept well. The only thing clouding her thoughts was Steve's threatening eyes, smouldering with anger as he held her against the wall. Steve pulled up a chair and sat beside her.

"Nat…" He began again but she cut him off.

"You don't need to explain. I understand." She muttered.

Steve shook his head, clearly regretting his earlier flash of anger. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have let anger get the better of me."

Natasha opened her mouth to insist that he needn't apologise but a beeping noise interrupted her. She leapt up and ran across the room, picking up a small monitor.

"What the hell?" She muttered.

Steve raced over. "What?"

Nat showed him the screen. It showed a green, outlined, electrical, version of the Avengers tower but that wasn't what had caught Natasha's attention. A small blinking dot was moving from the top right corner of the screen towards the tower. Steve's eyes widened as he immediately realised what it was.

 ** _'Crash!'_**

Steve forced Nat down and crouched in front of her, shielding her with his body. The room exploded, scattering lumps of stone from the wall across the room. Bricks pummeled into Steve's back and he flinched. The noise stopped and Steve looked around, falling backwards onto the dusty floor. He felt warm, blood dripping down his back where the stones had hit, some shards still stuck in his skin. He groaned, pushing himself up to his feet and shaking his head.

"You ok?" Natasha asked, clambering up.

"Yeah, I'm good. Are you?"

"Yes."

Steve nodded and walked over to the place where there was once a wall, which had now been blown apart. He climbed out of the gap and looked up and down the corridor. Rocks were strewn across the hallway and an entire room was missing across the hall to the left. A large hole left in the floor, allowing Steve to see the city through it. A figure was lying on the ground about five metres away, down the left of the corridor. Steve gasped as he recognised Bucky.

"Bucky!" Steve yelled as he ran over, skidding to a halt and kneeling beside his friend.

He was lying face down, bricks covering his right leg and the left side of his back. Steve shifted the rocks off of his friend's body. Steve called his name again, throwing off the final stone. Bucky let out a quiet groan, rolling over and his eyes rested on Steve, who forced a weak smile. Bucky coughed several times and, wincing, pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Oww… God, that hurt." He muttered, rubbing his chest.

Steve murmured in sympathy and helped Bucky to his feet. Natasha raced over to them, warily glancing at Bucky.

"We should go and check if Clint's alright." She suggested.

Steve nodded and looked at Bucky. "Can you walk?"

Bucky nodded back at him and limped after them down the corridor. Steve was in front, Natasha behind him, while Bucky trailed at the back. Bucky looked up at the ceiling as they walked, noticing the roof crumbling. Part of the ceiling broke off, above Natasha and Bucky leapt forward, grabbing her and rolling ahead of the falling roof. It crashed to the ground behind them, the noise echoing down the corridor. Natasha scrambled up, breathing heavily from shock, suddenly aware of what had happened.

"Whoa…" She breathed and looked down at Bucky, who was just getting up. "Thanks."

"No problem." He replied and walked up to Steve, still limping slightly.

"Are you both alright?" He asked, concerned.

"Yeah."

"Mmhm."

"Good." Steve said, smiling. "Better not risk using the elevator." He murmured; Natasha nodded in agreement.

 _Maybe Natasha would finally trust him,_ he thought as they made their way to the stairs.

* * *

"Clint? Clint, wake up!"

Clint groaned and blinked open his eyes. He was lying on his side on the floor, having been flung against the left wall of the hallway by the explosion. The ground in the corridor was covered in dust, rocks scattered around, their sizes varied. Crouched in front of him was Wanda, her face creased with worry. Clint pushed himself off the ground, rubbing a hand to his head, wiping the blood on his shirt. He suddenly scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly.

"Where's Pietro?" He asked, looking at Wanda.

She bit her lip, looking upset and shaking her head. "I don't know. I looked but I can't find him."

Clint scanned the corridor quickly, noticing that the wall to the medical room had fallen down, to be replaced by a large pile of rocks. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened. Wanda had sensed something was wrong and had reached out her powers, telling them there was a missile coming. Pietro had grabbed her and ran out, coming back for Clint. As they were nearly clear, the missile had hit. Pietro had thrown Clint out of the door and the wall had collapsed.

Clint opened his eyes, gasping. "He's still in there."

Wanda let out a quiet noise of distress and ran over to the rocks. She began to shift them, seeming to forget her powers. Clint sprinted up to her, dragging her away. He lifted a hand, pointing it at the rocks. Wanda joined him, raising her hand next to his.

"Together." She murmured, glancing at Clint. "1… 2… 3!"

They both whipped their hands to the side at the same time, blowing the rock pile apart. Clint swayed on his feet, leaning against the wall as the room spun around him. He blinked, shaking his head, forcing himself to stay standing. Shrugging off Wanda's hand from his shoulder, he ran into the room, tripping over rocks.

Clambering through the hole in between the ceiling and the remainder of the pile of stone, Clint leapt into the room. He looked around, panicking when he couldn't find Pietro. Inside the room the ground was covered in rocks, only a few rare patches where there was bare floor.  
Clint gasped.  
An arm was sticking out of one of the heaps of stone, palm upwards on a patch of floor, close to the left side of the room. Clint raced over and knelt beside the pile, pushing some rocks off. He lifted another, revealing Pietro's bleeding, bruised face; his eyes were shut. Wanda ran up, helping Clint shove the last few bricks off him.

"Pietro? Brother…" She whispered, voice cracking with sorrow.

Clint looked at him, letting out a quiet breath of relief as he saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. Putting his head close to Pietro's, slightly parted, mouth, Clint listened to his reassuring, yet quiet, breathing. He raised his head, touching his hand to Pietro's face.

"Pietro…" He murmured quietly.

Pietro stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, coughing. His eyes fluttered open a fraction, resting his gaze on Clint.

"Bet you… didn't see that coming." He breathed the words softly.

* * *

 **A/N- Just wanted to say thank you all for the kind reviews and advice. I really appreciate it.**


	9. Chapter 9

Steve climbed over the rubble into the medical room. He glanced over his shoulder at Bucky and Natasha.

"You'd better stay here." He whispered and scrambled over the rocks into the room.

Glancing around he noticed Wanda and Clint, huddled together, facing the wall. Steve ran over to them. As he neared, he saw they were crouched next to Pietro's broken body. The young man looked pale and deathly, unnaturally still as if he was carved of stone, his eyes closed.

"Wanda… Clint?" Steve murmured, kneeling in between them. "I-Is he dead?" He stuttered, fearing the answer.

Wanda shook her head, saying nothing.

As Wanda had appeared to lose her voice, Clint spoke for her. "He's alive… but only just." He added, causing Steve's stomach to do a backflip.

"We had better get him to a recovery room." Steve said; his voice soft.

"Be careful. I think he's broken some ribs." Wanda warned him.

Steve nodded and shuffled forwards, tucking one arm under Pietro legs and another on his back. He picked up Pietro, gently, in his arms. It went without saying that he would be careful. Wanda jumped up, Clint following more slowly as they clambered out of the room. Pietro's right arm dangled limply in the air, free from Steve's hold.

Leaving the room, Clint locked eyes with Bucky. Frozen, memories overwhelming him, Clint stared at the man, his eyes wide. Bucky frowned, confused. Wanda delicately tugged Clint's arm, sensing the fear vibrating off of him in waves.

"Come on." She said, carefully. "Pietro needs us."

Clint shut his eyes, briefly, for no longer than a heartbeat, before opening them again and following Wanda, keeping as far away from Bucky as possible. Natasha, hesitantly, laid her hand on Bucky's shoulder and drew him away.

"I'll find you a room." She murmured.

Bucky glanced at her and smiled, a little sadly. "Without being strapped to a chair?"

The corner of Natasha's mouth twitched in a smile. "I think that can be arranged."

* * *

Steve laid Pietro, carefully, on a bed. Wanda and Clint entered the small, square room; grey and windowless. A bed against the left wall, a desk, chairs tucked under it, against the right. Ducking his head to the others, Steve left the room, casting a final glance at them over his shoulder. Clint arranged two chairs beside the bed, sitting in the one closest to Pietro's head. He rested his head in his hand, his eyes fixed on the young man. Wanda sat on the other chair with a sigh.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" She murmured, half to herself.

Clint looked at her, his face expressionless. "Yes."

Wanda opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a quiet moan from Pietro. She leapt up, sitting on the edge of her brother's bed. As she stroked a strand of hair out of his face, he reached up and took hold of her hand. He rested it on his chest, where his heart was and put his hand on his sister's. The steady beat of it calmed Wanda. Pietro blinked open his eyes, drowsily, looking up at his sister.

"Hey." She greeted him, quietly.

"Hey." He whispered.

Wanda smiled and lifted her brother's hand, pressing it against her cheek. She closed her eyes and Pietro stroked his hand down her cheek.

"Where's Clint?" He asked.

"I'm here." Clint murmured, leaning forwards.

Pietro turned his head to the side, so he was facing him, and smiled, weakly. "Second time." He whispered.

Clint grinned. "I know. You'd better let me catch up."

"No chance." Pietro replied, quietly.

Clint frowned, unsure if Pietro was being competitive or if he was saying Clint would not get a chance. "Pietro…"

"Am I going to die?" Pietro asked bluntly. "Please just answer me truthfully."

"No. Of course you're not going to die." Wanda whispered, barely stopping her voice from shaking.

Pietro kept his eyes on Clint. The archer decided it would be best not to lie.

"There's still a chance you could." He began, ignoring Wanda hissing his name in a warning. "But you won't, because we won't let you."

Pietro let out a tiny exhale of laughter. "I-if its time then there's nothing you can do." He stuttered in a hushed voice.

Clint started to assure him that he would be alright but stopped himself as Pietro's eyes began to close. He sighed quietly as his eyelids fluttered shut. His body relaxed, his hand falling limp in Wanda's. Turning his face to Wanda, Clint cast her a worried glance.

He had never heard someone so acceptant to death, so ready. _But Pietro's not going to die_ , he told himself stubbornly. _If he can live through a billion bullets, then he can survive being crushed by a couple of rocks._ Memories he tried so hard to forget, but never could, blossomed in his mind. A familiar feeling spread through Clint's heart. A kind of tugging that always appeared when he thought of the battle in Sokovia.

It was grief.

Pure sorrow at the memory of seeing Pietro, lying on the ground, dark blood gushing from his wounds.  
His, white, pale face cut and dirty.  
The young child, staring in shock at the man who had died to save him.  
His eyes had been open, but glassy, unblinking.  
He was dead. He had died.

"Clint?"

Clint opened his eyes at the sound of Wanda's voice. Taking several deep, gulping breaths, he tried to calm himself. Realising he was shaking, he hugged himself around the waist, rocking back and forwards slightly on the chair. He had never experienced anything like this before.

"Clint, are you ok?" Wanda said his name again, slightly raising her voice. She sounded worried.

Clint suddenly froze, his eyes fixed on Pietro.

It was too easy to imagine his body littered with bullet wounds. Too easy to picture him, dying in Clint's arms.

Clint leapt off the chair, making Wanda squeal in shock.

"I-I can't…" He began, stuttering. "I'm sorry."

He sprinted out of the room, slamming the door behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

"Ok… Ok… Calm down…" Clint told himself.

He was leaning against the wall of his room, breathing heavily.

"W-What's happening to me…?" He questioned, pacing up and down the room.

He had lost control, emotions getting the better of him.

Just thinking of the kid, lying in a bed, looking close to death, made his heart twist. _What was that? Pity, grief, sympathy, guilt?_ Whatever it was, it made his chest tight and a lump form in his throat. Angry at himself, Clint whipped round, striking out with his fist and hitting the wall. Drawing it away, he saw that his punch had made a large dent. Ignoring the pain throbbing in his knuckles, he walked over to his bed, sitting on the edge and burying his face in his hands.

"H-he died for me." Clint whispered to himself. "No." He shook his head. "But he was prepared to… I was such an ass." He groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead in regret.

A quiet knock on the door interrupted his swirling thoughts.

"What?" Clint asked, swiping a hand towards the door, locking it.

He didn't want company. He didn't care who it was. He didn't want to be judged right now.

"Clint. It's me."

He recognised Natasha's voice immediately, though it sounded unusually soft. _Did she know what was happening? No_. Clint decided. Clint didn't even know what was happening.

"What do you want?" Clint questioned.

"Let me in Clint." Natasha ordered as she tried the door.

Clint sighed. He knew if he didn't let her in now, he'd pay for it later. Lifting his hand, he used his powers to unlock the door. Nat opened it and walked in, hurriedly.

"Are you alright?" She asked, attempting to sound neutral.

Clint closed his eyes, turning his face away from her. "Yeah." He muttered.

"Well, that's a lie." Natasha said, sitting beside him on the bed. "Truthfully?" She questioned.

"Ok, no then." Clint replied, soundly strangely reluctant.

Natasha tilted her head to one side. "Why?" She murmured.

"Because I'm going crazy." Clint said, rubbing a hand to his forehead. "Because I'm sick of Pietro dying for me. Because I can't think straight. Because when I look at Pietro I see him dying in my arms. Do you need more?" He sounded oddly bitter, almost savage, which wasn't like him at all.

"No… That's enough, thanks." Natasha answered, slightly surprised at his tone and not wanting to hear any more.

Clint stood up, pacing the length of the room again, pausing at a dent in the wall, running his hand over it briefly, before continuing. Natasha's eyes followed him, watching with an unguarded concern.

"Clint... How long has this been going on for?"

"Not long. You should have seen him Nat." He suddenly stopped pacing, looking at Natasha. "He was so ready to die. So accepting…" He murmured, eyes glazed, lost in thought.

"Maybe he's realised any one of us could die at any moment." Natasha muttered, barely loud enough to hear.

Clint shook his head, uncertainly and slung his quiver over his back, picking up his bow. "I'm going to train." He murmured.

"Clint. I really think you should rest." Natasha protested.

"Don't feel like it." He replied, bluntly. "Let me know if anything happens with Pietro."

Natasha nodded, knowing that she couldn't change his mind no matter how hard she tried. Clint left the room, leaving Natasha to ponder over Clint's mental state.

* * *

"W-wanda?"

Wanda ripped her gaze away from the door to look at her brother. Clint had just raced out of the room, seeming to have some sort of mental breakdown. A flashback so vivid it had broken him.

His mind had exploded with emotions.

Wanda had felt it. Felt it like lightning striking her mind.

Getting up of her chair, she moved to sit on the edge of Pietro's bed. Her brother raised his head off of the bed, wincing and letting out a quiet noise of pain, his hand flying to his ribs. He gritted his teeth, dropping his head back down on the bed.

"Where did Clint go?" He whispered, his eyes resting on the empty chair.

Wanda hesitated. "I don't think Clint's very well." She said slowly, choosing her words carefully.

"Don't talk to m-me like I'm a child." Pietro said with a flash of his old humour. "I'm tw-elve minutes older than you."

Wanda couldn't help but chuckle; it had been a while since she had a reason to. Suddenly her face fell as she thought of Clint again.

"Clint has post-traumatic stress disorder."

Wanda turned round to see Natasha walking into the room. She stood next to Wanda, her arms folded, looking worried.

"What does that mean?" Pietro asked quietly, sounding fearful.

"Emotional stress after a traumatic experience." Natasha told him, as if she'd said it a hundred times before.

 _She probably has,_ Wanda reflected.

"Okay. How can we help?" Wanda asked, turning to Natasha.

To Wanda's dismay, she shook her head. "I don't know. Clint's never had this before, so I don't know the best way to help him through it."

Pietro sat up, narrowing his eyes and gasping in pain. Leaning back against the wall he closed his eyes briefly, taking deep breaths before opening them, again looking up at Natasha.

"Where did Clint go?" He asked, his voice hoarse.

"He went to train…" Natasha replied. "I told him to rest but he wouldn't listen." She suddenly widened her eyes in realisation. "If he's hurt himself I'll kill him." She ran out of the room.

Wanda cast a worried look at her brother.

"Go with her." He ordered. When she didn't move he added. "I'll be fine."

Giving her brother a swift kiss on the cheek, Wanda raced out of the room after Natasha, shutting the door behind her. Pietro watched them leave, wishing with all his heart that he could follow. He pressed down lightly on one of his ribs, taking in a sharp breath at the pain lacing through his chest. Turning his head, he looked over at the empty seat beside his bed. He sighed.

 _I hope they find Clint before he injures himself… or someone else._


	11. Chapter 11

"Damn it!"

Clint growled, lowering his bow. That was the fifth time he had missed. For the first two times he had tried to blame it on the sun, burning brightly up ahead. But after it had disappeared behind a dark cloud Clint knew it wasn't. The target seemed to be mocking him, making his vision spin every time he took a shot. The arrow he had just fired was lodged in a tree behind the target.

He was stood outside, the Avengers tower looming over him. Tony owned a bit of land as well as the tower, a lawn covered in grass at the back and a forest to the side of it. Clint was on the grass, his target set up in front of the leafy green trees. This was where he trained for archery.

He notched another arrow on the string, pulling it back to his jaw and pointing it at the target. As he let it go the target changed into Pietro, crouched on the ground like a wounded animal. Clint seemed to see it in slow motion. The arrow embedded itself in Pietro's chest, directly in his heart. He let out a chilling scream, blood slowly soaking his shirt, and fell to the ground.

Clint collapsed on his knees, finding himself unable to breathe, his hands flying to his head. He shut his eyes tightly, shaking uncontrollably. Lifting a hand he uprooted a large tree, slamming it to the ground with a loud crash, its branches rattling as they hit together. Clint fell backwards, exhausted from the effort of lifting such a large object, and gulped in the precious air.

* * *

"What was that?!" Wanda questioned, her voice trembling.

Natasha stiffened, listening. The echoing crash seemed to vibrate through the ground. She rushed forward, flinging open the door and racing outside. Wanda followed, nearly running into the back of her as Natasha skidded to a halt on the grass. Wanda followed her gaze and her hands flew to her face, covering her mouth.

A tree from the edge of the forest had fallen on the lawn, its branches still trembling from the impact of hitting the ground, leaves scattered around on the dark grass. A figure lay next to the large trunk; the grass around it was dead. Wanda took her hands away, exchanging a frightened glance with Natasha and they sprinted over to the body.

Clint lay, sprawled on the dying ground, one arm bent above his head, the other stretched out to the side, both legs bent to the right at an obtuse angle. His whole body was shaking, eyes wide, unblinking, glazed with shock. Wanda and Natasha crouched on either side of him. His chest was heaving, his breathing fast and ragged. Nat reached down, taking his head in her hands, she raised it off the ground. He blinked slowly, flicking his gaze to Natasha as his eyes opened.

She opened her mouth to speak but Clint struggled to his feet, landing a few punches to her stomach before she retaliated. As Clint's arm swung towards her, she caught it twisting it behind him. He kicked out, catching her leg and she lost her grip. They fought fiercely for a while, both giving as good as they got. Natasha finally leapt at him, wrapping her legs around his neck, they fell to the ground. Pinning him down, she pressed her knees against his shoulders. She took something from her pocket. An injection needle.

Clint's eyes widened as she took off the cap, the metal needle glinting in the weak sun. She forced his head to the side, and pressed the pointed end into the side of his exposed neck. She injected the liquid, murmuring soft, comforting words to a whimpering Clint. He broke his arms free, shoving her off of him and rolled onto his hands and knees. He looked down at the needle, lying on the ground and picked it up. Looking up at Natasha, his eyelids flickered, threatening to close.

"N-Nat?" He stuttered, his voice a hoarse whisper.

His arms gave way and he collapsed, falling to the ground and rolling onto his back. Natasha, silently, kneeled beside him. Sighing, she laid a hand on the side of his sleeping face. Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to wander back to another time. Clint's mind had been controlled by Thor's brother, Loki and he and Natasha had fought, eventually Natasha had beaten him, forcing Loki out.

Wanda crouched next to Natasha, putting a hand, gently on her shoulder. "What did you give him?" She asked, softly.

"He's unconscious." Natasha explained, quietly. Since the incident with Bucky she had started to carry the needles around with her. "I didn't hurt him. But he would've hurt himself if I didn't stop him."

"Or he would have hurt you." Wanda murmured.

Natasha stiffened beside her. Her face was hidden but Wanda could tell she was crying. But Natasha never showed it. Wanda thought that Nat believed emotions were for the weak.

She believed nothing of the sort. Emotions were what kept them alive.

Nat knew that from experience, remembering the first time she and Clint had met. She wiped her palm to her eyes, brushing away the tears.

"We'd better get him back inside."


	12. Chapter 12

Clint blinked open his eyes slowly, narrowing them against the unfamiliar light. He flicked his gaze around the room, realising immediately that he was in a bed in one of the medical rooms. He raised a hand, rubbing a palm to his head and letting out a quiet groan. _What happened?_ He answered his own question, realising with a jolt that he had lost control of his emotions. Again!

"Morning archer." A voice mumbled to his left.

He twisted his head around, startled, finding Pietro lying on his side, facing Clint, in a bed next to him.

"What are you doing here?" He muttered, relaxing and turning his face back to the ceiling, closing his eyes. "I'm unstable."

"I know." Pietro replied, quietly. It sounded odd to hear Clint admit that he couldn't control his power. "That's why I'm here. I want to help."

Clint privately believed that being with Pietro would make it worse but he held his tongue. "I don't think you can." He responded, sighing.

Pietro opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a gasp, catching in his throat and he rolled onto his back. Clint turned to look at him, his eyes widening as he saw Pietro's eyes flickering shut, his body trembling.

"Pietro…" He said, hesitantly, pushing himself into a sitting position. He raised his voice as Pietro didn't answer, the choking noises coming from him getting weaker. "Pietro!"

He suddenly felt his chest tighten and an image of Pietro in Sokovia flickered in his mind. He forced himself to deepen his breathing. "No… No…" He muttered, stubbornly refusing to become lost in memories. Reaching out with his mind he scanned the building looking for only one person.

 _'Wanda!'_ He screamed in his head, hoping she could hear him. He shut his eyes tightly, dimly seeing a vision of Wanda stirring in her sleep, replacing the image of Pietro. _'Wanda!'_ He yelled again penetrating her mind, causing the young woman to sit bolt upright, racing from her room and down the corridor. A few moments later she ran into the room, around three Doctors behind her. One of them rushed over to Clint, who was struggling to stay conscious due to reaching his mind so far. The archer waved her away.

"Pietro…" He told her weakly, refusing to let her near him even though he was gasping for air. "Help… Pietro."

The woman nodded briskly, still looking doubtful and worried, but raced over to join the other doctors and Wanda beside Pietro. Clint, eyelids fluttering, dimly heard a few words.

"Thoracotomy… Cardiac… Urgent…"

Clint lost the rest, his vision clouding as he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

Pain.

That was all Pietro felt.

A terrible pain lacing through his chest, making him take in a sharp breath. A voice was whispering something above him but it was too quiet to make out the words. He slowly twitches his fingers, making the person above him fall into silence. He felt a warm hand lay on his bare chest and he half-opened his eyes.

Wanda was sat on the edge of his bed, looking down at her brother with an anxious expression. He managed a weak smile, closing his eyes. He noticed that there was an oxygen mask covering his mouth and he lifted a hand to take it off, putting it down beside him.

"You didn't see that coming?" Wanda asked softly.

Pietro let out a short exhale of laughter. "Guess I didn't." He wished his voice was stronger but the words came out as a hoarse whisper.

Wanda's eyes softened in sympathy, glittering with worry as Pietro winced and let out a quiet noise of distress.

"Are you alright?" She asked, laying a hand on the side of his neck.

"W-what happened?" He questioned, pain making him stutter.

"Cardiac arrest. Your heart stopped working." Wanda told him, fighting to keep her voice level. "They had to perform a thoracotomy." Pietro was about to ask what that was but Wanda continued. "Clint saved your life by waking me up, with his powers, so I could get the doctors."

Pietro turned his head to the side, seeing the archer unconscious on the bed to the right of his. Clint's breathing was fast and shallow, the rise and fall of his chest barely visible. Pietro smiled and whispered. "Nearly even."

Wanda let out a tiny exhale of laughter at her brother's attitude. Even though he had been horribly injured in the past (and recently) he had not lost his joking flare.

Pietro turned back to her. "Is he going to be okay?" He asked, gesturing to Clint.

Wanda nodded, resting her eyes on the archer. "He just exhausted himself by stretching his power a long distance."

"He shouldn't have done that." Pietro murmured, half angry at the older man.

Wanda knew he wasn't really cross, just worried. She said nothing but Pietro could tell she partly agreed with him. She didn't want to see Clint get hurt.

"He just needs to rest. Like you."

That was a clear message that Wanda wanted him to sleep.

Pietro sighed and, casting a final look at Clint, he closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him. Wanda waited for her brothers breathing to deepen, letting her know that he was asleep, before stroking a hand over one of the many scars covering his body.

This one was from the battle in Sokovia, a bullet wound close to his heart.

Wanda closed her eyes, remembering the battle where she had very nearly lost him. Feeling warm tears stinging the corners of her eyes, she blinked furiously.

 _I am never going to leave him again,_ she promised herself.

Leaning down, she kissed her brother's forehead softly, stroking his white hair. She remained sat on the edge of his bed, just watching him breathe. He seemed to be struggling and Wanda moved her hand down to his stubbly chin. She moved his head up gently, so his face was looking up at the ceiling. Putting the oxygen mask back over his mouth, Wanda noticed his ragged breathing seemed to ease, becoming deeper and clearer. She smiled slightly; laying a hand on the side of her brother's sleeping face.

"I love you." She whispered quietly. "Never forget it."


	13. Chapter 13

Clint woke up with a quiet groan.

Pietro was asleep on a bed to his left. Wanda lay on her brother's chest, head rested on her folded arms. Clint smiled at the twin's closeness, half-wishing he could share that kind of bond with someone. He frowned, sitting up cross-legged on the bed.

"Oh… You're awake."

Looking up, he saw Natasha walking into the room, picking up a few files from a table at the side of the room. She came and sat on the edge of his bed, not as close as she used to. Seeing his confused expression, Natasha tipped her head to the side.

"Are you okay?" She asked, trying to keep her voice light.

Clint looked around slowly before answering. "What am I doing here?"

The question caught Natasha off guard. "What… What do you mean?"

"I mean… Why am I here? When did I get here? What…" He paused, rubbing a hand to his head in attempt to decrease the pain. "What's going on?"

Natasha hesitated, a frown crossing her face. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Clint shut his eyes, struggling to remember. "Training?" He replied, sounding unsure. "I… I was training and… I don't know what happened after that."

Natasha filled him in, careful not to miss out any details. She finished by telling him about Pietro having a Cardiac arrest and how Clint used his powers to get help. "You saved his life Clint." She ended softly.

Clint turned his head to look at Pietro. "He doesn't look that saved to me." He whispered, his eyes sad.

"He'd be dead without you." Natasha told him.

Her eyes widened as Clint swallowed, breathing heavily and put a hand to his face. An image of Pietro in Sokovia burned in his mind. He was trembling visibly, taking in several, slightly shuddering breaths. Red flickers shot from his other hand, rested on the bed, his fingers twitched and quivered.

"Hey, hey. Clint, calm down. It's ok. You're fine." She comforted, edging closer and putting a hand on his arm.

She took an oxygen mask from a table to the right of his bed and lifted it over his face. Clint held it over his mouth with a hand, forcing himself to deepen his breathing, drinking in the air. Natasha watched him, scared and anxious, unsure of what to do. She stayed there for what felt like days, though it could have only been a few minutes. Clint finally regained control, taking off the mask and blowing out a long calming breath, he rested his forehead in his palms.

"What's wrong with me?" He murmured, half to himself.

"PTSD." Natasha replied, quietly. "That's post-trau…"

"I know what it is." Clint cut her off, not lifting his head. "But I don't get it… I've never had it."

Natasha muttered in agreement. "Yes, but you've got it now Clint." Her voice was gentle as if she was… scared.

Clint took his hands away from his head, opening his eyes and looking at Natasha. His face was expressionless, almost as if he was assessing her. She didn't like it when he looked at her like that. She felt like she would never escape his mesmerising gaze.

"Are you scared?" He asked unexpectedly.

Natasha did her best to return his gaze evenly. "Of what?"

"Of me." Clint replied, simply.

"No."

"You're lying."

Natasha widened her eyes. Clint's eyes were hard as flint, not angry or mean but filled with an emotion that Natasha could not place. She could find no words to explain to him. _How did he know what I was thinking?_ Clint blinked slowly, as if he could hear her thoughts.

He could.

Clint found it easier than he expected to enter someone's mind and know what they were thinking. Natasha feared him. She feared his power.

He felt surprisingly calm at this news. To find out that one of his oldest friends was scared of him. He expected himself to have a completely different reaction. It's not like he enjoyed her fear, far from it. Her fear was relatable. That's why Clint did not find it alarming. He was afraid of himself, frightened of his own abilities and scared of what he could do to others.

"Would it be easier if I wasn't here?" Clint mumbled, lowering his eyes to stare at the floor.

"No!" Natasha's voice was stern; recovering from the shock of Clint's searching eyes. "We need you here Clint."

"Why?" He questioned, sounding downcast.

"Because we're friends. We need you for missions and…" She hesitated not wanting to send Clint into another panic attack. "Those two are pretty fond of you." She dared to mention, waving a hand at the twins.

Clint looked over at Pietro and Wanda, again partly envying their close bond before shaking the negative thoughts from his mind with a forceful twitch of his head.

This did not go unnoticed by Natasha and she cast him an anxious glance. "Clint…"

"I'm okay."

Natasha half-smiled. "Lying?"

Clint shot her a partly amused look, his eyes recovering their friendly glitter. Natasha sighed silently in relief. This was the Clint she knew. Not the hard eyed, telekinetic man that had been there since Clint had obtained his powers. Maybe they were settling down now.

* * *

Clint flexed his hand for a few seconds before clenching his fist and then re-flexing it. Watching him, Natasha swore she could see red mist quivering from his hand occasionally. Natasha opened her mouth to ask what he was doing but quickly silenced herself as Clint raised his arm, hand pointing at a table in the corner of the room. Red mist shot out of his hand, making the table jerk, violently, and rise into the air. Clint lifted his hand, the table moving with it. His eyes were glowing scarlet, narrowed in concentration. Natasha scrambled back, moving away from Clint, until the back her legs brushed Pietro's bed, fear bright in her eyes. Clint clenched his fist, scrunching up the table like a sheet of paper. It fell to the ground with a loud bang, jolting Wanda and Pietro awake. Clint lay on his back, panting heavily, his eyes tight shut, and a spasm of pain contorted his face.

Wanda slipped off her Brother's bed and ran over to him, her expression worried. Natasha heard a shuffling behind her as Pietro took off the oxygen mask and tried to sit up. Holding Pietro back gently with her hand, Natasha strained to see what Wanda was doing. She couldn't see Clint past her, so Natasha busied herself by carefully restraining Pietro.

"Clint! Clint, listen. You have to control it." Wanda whispered urgently, quickly brushing back the archer's hair with a hand.

Clint, still shaking, drew in a couple of long shivering breaths. He kept his eyes squeezed shut; scared that if he opened them he would accidently hurt Wanda with his power.

"Clint, look at me."

He shook his head stubbornly, refusing to open his eyes despite Wanda's requests. He soon controlled his laboured breathing. Wanda was speaking again but Clint wasn't listening, keeping his eyes shut, relishing the solitude of his own mind. Feeling a hand shake his shoulder, he dared to open his eyes, Wanda's anxious face above him.

"There you go." She soothed, quietly, her voice calming him. "You're alright. You're fine."

He lifted his head off the bed, moving his arms so they were propping up his torso. Slowly, he moved into a sitting position, cross-legged on the bed. He raised a hand to his forehead, his vision blurring slightly, feeling lightheaded. Natasha, who had finally persuaded Pietro to lie still, came over, hesitantly. Clint glanced up at her, taking his hand away and groaned.

"Sorry." He apologised, rubbing a hand to the base of his neck.

"It's okay." Natasha murmured, sitting down at the end of his bed.

There was a moments silence before Clint took a deep breath. "Wanda… I'm not sure I can do this."

"Don't be silly. Of course you can." Wanda sounded more confident than she felt.

"Can I?" Clint asked, dubious. "I'm going to end up hurting someone."

"He's scared."

Clint looked to the left to see Pietro, sitting up, his back against the wall at the head of his bed, legs stretched out in front of him. There was no scorn in his voice and his blue eyes glistened with a strong understanding.

"You've got a good reason to be." Pietro continued, his unwavering gaze set on Clint. "Everything has changed."

"Pietro…" Wanda began, softly. "Don't."

"It's fine." Clint assured her. "He's right."

Natasha looked at him in shock. _He's scared?! Clint Barton… Was scared?_


	14. Chapter 14

Clint ran across the lawn, into the forest. The trees were dark, hardly visible in the night. The sky was pure black, without the stars or the moon, but still, an eerie glow bathed the ground.

Natasha suddenly leapt out from behind a tree, fear lighting her eyes. Clint flicked a hand at her, shooting red mist out of his fingers and disintegrating her into tiny particles, which rose into the sky and scattered on the wind.

Wanda appeared on the path, glaring at Clint in hatred through narrowed eyes. He swept his hand in her direction, making her fade with a flash of red.

Clint heard rushed footsteps behind him and whipped around quickly, raising his hand.  
On the ground in front of him was Pietro. The younger man was bleeding heavily from a wound in his chest. No doubt about it, the wound was made by Clint's powers. Clint watched helplessly as Pietro bled to death, his life pouring out onto the leaf covered ground. The floor washed with red, the smell of blood clogging Clint's senses. He started to run towards Pietro but he just seemed to move further away, like he was sprinting backwards. A cruel, cold voice echoed through the darkness.

 _'It's your fault. All of it. It's because of you.'_

* * *

Clint sat bolt upright on the bed, moving to his knees, gasping in the air, a sticky sheen of sweat covering his body.

"Clint, are you okay?"

Heart beating unnaturally loud, Clint hardly heard the voice, running his hands through his wet hair; he rested his head in his palms. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to breathe normally but finding that the only way he could get air was to gulp it in, like he would never had enough to fill his lungs. The voice sounded again, more urgent this time and Clint covered his ears with his hands.

He was properly, truly scared now.

That was the worst nightmare he had ever experienced. There was quite a long list of those.

A muffled banging noise sounded and Clint knew it was the door opening. Soft hands took hold of his wrists but they were not strong enough to pull Clint's hands away from his ears. He kept them firmly pressed against the side of his head, shaking his head. Suddenly he heard a voice echo in his mind, sounding like all the people Clint had ever known, but it was still one clear voice.

 _'Clint. Open your eyes.'_

 _'No… No, no, no.'_ Clint thought, shaking his head even more fiercely, refusing to obey.

 _'Listen. You can't go on like this. Let me help you. Let me…'_

 _'Leave me alone!'_ He shouted in his mind, interrupting the calm voice.

 _'You need help. Let me help.'_ The voice repeated.

' _You can't! You can't help me!'_

 _'I can, Clint. I promise, if you let me in… I can help.'_

Clint slowly opened his eyes, finding the kind face of Wanda in front of him. Allowing her to ease his hands away from the sides of his head, Clint found that he was trembling uncontrollably. Wanda held his shaking hands on her lap. As Wanda placed both of her hands gently on the back of his neck, Clint bowed his head, closing his eyes and taking in a long shivering breath.

"That's right. You're okay." Wanda whispered comfortingly.

"I-I… I don…don't…" Clint began to stutter.

Wanda hushed him softly, lifting his head slightly and resting her forehead against his. A sharp pain stabbed his heart as he remembered the horror of his dream and he tried to push the memory away, not wanting Wanda to know. Something told him she already knew.

"Lie still! No! I said lie still!"

Clint raised his head, looking to his left in the direction of the voice. A doctor was attempting to restrain Pietro, who was desperately trying to see Wanda and Clint. The doctor was blocking his view. Wanda leapt up, running over to her brother, ushering the doctor out of the room.

"Don't worry, Clint's okay. He's alright. Calm down. Lie back, you're going to hurt yourself." Wanda stroked back Pietro's hair, gently pushing him down so he was lying on his back.

"I'm fine. I…" Pietro insisted, but his protest was ruined by a loud, painful coughing fit.

"You are a terrible liar." Wanda murmured quietly, provoking a short exhale of laughter from her brother.

"Guess so." He muttered in reply.

"You alright kid?" Clint asked, recovering slightly from the shock of his dream.

Pietro looked at him and nodded. "I'm good… What about you?"

Pietro didn't miss the moment of hesitation before Clint answered. "Yeah. I'm okay."

Pietro held his tongue, knowing what it was like to be so scared that you don't even want to talk.  
 _Fear... Not necessarily a bad thing,_ Pietro reflected.

"Hey? Pietro, are you daydreaming?"

The voice jolted Pietro out of his thoughts. "Huh? What?"

Wanda shared and amused look with Clint. "I'll take that as a yes." She said, smiling more than she had in days.

Clint swung his legs off the side of his bed and tipped his head to one side, stretching the muscles in his neck. Holding his hands about 10cm apart, one above the other, he twisted them slightly, red mist travelling between them. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, the scarlet flickers glowing brighter.

"Clint…" Wanda warned.

Clint broke concentration, bringing his hands down. "Sorry." He murmured, seeing Wanda's anxious expression.

He turned his gaze to Pietro, who seemed to be struggling to stay awake, his eyelids drooping.

"Wanda… Would you train with me? Now?" He asked, hesitantly.

"Of course." She answered. "Hey, Pietro." She whispered, leaning down to her brother. "I'm going to train with Clint. If you need me, well, I'll keep an eye out for you."

"Okay. See you later then." Pietro mumbled, closing his eyes.

Wanda laid a hand on his head stroked back his hair, kissing his forehead softly. "Goodnight Brother."

She walked across the room; Clint was waiting for her at the door. He held it open for her and she went into the corridor with a murmur of thanks. The archer cast a final glance at Pietro before following Wanda out into the corridor and down to the training rooms.


	15. Chapter 15

A quiet knock sounded on the door.

Bucky blinked open his eyes, sitting up on his bed. Looking around, frowning in confusion, he momentarily forgot where he was. His mouth formed an 'O' as he remembered. The knock sounded again and a quiet voice said his name.

"James?"

"Yes, yes. Come in." Bucky answered, blinking in surprise.

It had been a long time since someone had called him by his real name. _It's doesn't suit me_ , he thought to himself as the door opened. The redheaded woman walked in. _What was her name again? Steve had said it earlier._

"Natasha?" He said hesitantly.

She nodded. "That's right."

"What can I do for you?" Bucky asked, making an effort to sound as polite as possible.

"Nick Fury would like to speak with you." She, seeing Bucky's confused expression, briefly explained who Fury was. "He'd just like to ask you a few questions James."

"Alright, and you can call me Bucky." He said. "James is way too formal."

Natasha smiled. "If we're on that level then you can call me Nat."

"Okay then. Nat." Bucky returned her smile and stood up off the bed. "Lead the way."

* * *

"Ok, I don't want you to overdo it. If you think you can't do something, then don't do it. Clear?"

"Clear."

Wanda and Clint stood in an empty training room, just a large square space with punch bags, dummies, a random selection of weapons and targets in one corner. Clint had his back to the door; Wanda stood about four metres ahead of him.

"Ok, try stopping this from hitting the wall."

Wanda raised a javelin off the floor with her powers and threw it at the left wall. Clint raised his hand too late and the Javelin embedded itself in the wall.

"Sorry, slow reflexes." Clint apologised.

"It's fine. Try it again."

Wanda took it from the wall, using her powers to send it flying at the wall. Clint flicked his hand at it, red shrouding his fingers, and making the javelin halt in the air for a moment before it continued, this time not going into the wall, but clattering off of it and falling to the ground.

"Better." Wanda praised. "Third time lucky."

She threw it again to the left side and Clint twisted his hand, stopping the Javelin completely and, with a flick, made it change direction, throwing it to the other side, sticking it in the wall.

"Nice work."

Clint tore his gaze away from the Javelin to look at Wanda. "Thanks."

He raised his hand; pulling the Javelin from the wall and making it hover in front of him. Reaching out, hesitantly with his other hand, he took the spiked pole from the air, breaking concentration. He balanced it on a finger, throwing it up into the air and catching it again.

"What now?" He asked, turning his eyes back to Wanda, who was looking thoughtfully at the heap of objects in the corner of the room.

"Let's get one of Tony's spare suits and you can practice on that." She decided. "Wait here; I'll just go ask him."

Clint murmured in acknowledgment and Wanda left the room.

* * *

Clint quickly set up a target at the far side of the room, using his power, and made a knife fly over to him. He caught it in his hand, quickly practicing a slicing movement before raising it into the air with his powers, red mist covering his hand and the knife. With a quick twist of his hand, he threw the knife at the target, satisfaction running through him as it hit the centre of the middle circle.

"Nice shot."

Clint turned round to see Wanda entering the room, a grey ironman suit following close behind her, its heavy feet clunking on the ground.

"Hey tin man."

"Good morning agent Barton." Came the robotic yet polite reply.

"Ok, we're not aiming to kill or wound. Yes?"

"Affirmative Miss Wanda."

"Right let's begin."

The grey suit took up a position in the centre of the room and Clint watched it carefully, assessing its movements. It suddenly gave a violent jerk, eyes flashing white and raised a hand. Clint rolled out the way and something exploded behind him. He looked back; a smoking crater was left in the wall.

"Is this…" He broke off to jump out the way again as another light was fired at him. "… Supposed to happen?"

"No!" Wanda shouted back at him, and put a finger to her earpiece. "Tony get down here, one of your suits has gone crazy."

Clint raised a hand, sending a bow and quiver flying over to him. He quickly slung the quiver over his back, notching an arrow in the bow, ducking as another jet was shot at him. He fired an arrow at the suit, embedding it in its head. It barely paused, shooting another bolt at Clint, this time hitting the archer's leg. Clint fell onto one knee, head bowed and the suit shot another white light at his shoulder, forcing him back a few paces.

Wanda yelled his name and he looked up, eyes glowing red, quickly raising his hand, sending scarlet mist at the suit. It rose into the air and Clint flicked his hand sharply to the side. The grey suit crashed into the wall and broke into a hundred pieces, clattering to the ground.

Clint, breathing heavily, fell backwards, leaning against the wall with his legs out in front of him. Resting his head against the wall, he closed his eyes, the pain in his shoulder increasing. A gentle hand slapped his face a few times.

"Come on Clint. Stay with me."

Clint lifted his head, opening his eyes drowsily. Crouched in front of him was Wanda, her hand held the back of his neck. She pushed his t-shirt collar down his arm, revealing his left shoulder, making him grunt in pain as her hand brushed the wound. A large patch of skin was missing from the top left of his torso, leaving exposed flesh. Blood slowly oozed from it, dripping down his chest. Around the wound was scarred and burnt white.

Clint swallowed and heaved in the air, his face growing pale and white as the blood left his body. "That di-didn't go so well." He whispered, voice filled with anguish.

Wanda quickly stripped off his shirt and pressed the fabric onto the injury. Clint gasped, letting out a cry of pain and Wanda hushed him softly, stroking her hand to his head. The door banged open and Tony ran in, looking around wildly and, when he spotted Clint, he ran over, crouching down beside him.

"Oh, Jesus Christ. What happened?" He asked, fixing his eyes on the blood flowing down Clint's torso.

"One of you're stupid machines went AWOL." Wanda growled, holding the fabric on harder. "Hey, no, come on. Eyes open." She ordered as Clint's head began to fall, eyelids flickering.

"Sorry, malfunction. I'll fix it." Tony stumbled over the words, his concern rising.

"Y-yeah." Clint whispered. "You'd be…" He broke off, taking in a sharp breath and closing his eyes as Wanda adjusted her grip on the fabric. "Better."

"Come on Barton." Tony urged, putting a hand on Clint's arm. "Avengers don't give up."

"I kn-know we don't… and I n-never will." Clint breathed the words quietly, his chest heaving as he fought for air. "It-It's just time... to s… sleep."

His eyes fluttered shut, letting out a soft exhale of breath and his head fell slightly to the side.


	16. Chapter 16

"Quickly Tony! Put him down on the bed!"

Wanda rushed into the medical room after Tony, who dropped Clint on the bed beside Pietro's. Three doctors followed her, milling around the bed. Tony took a step back, allowing them space to work. Wanda hurriedly put two fingers to Clint's neck and leant down, putting her ear close to his mouth.

"He's not breathing." She reported, trying and failing to stop the tremor in her voice.

The doctors worked, quickly and efficiently staring to perform CPR on the archer. Tony took Wanda's shoulders and gently pulled her away. Rushed movement sounded behind them and they both turned around to see Pietro getting off his bed and limping over to stand beside them. For once Wanda didn't try to stop him and they watched as the doctors desperately tried to resuscitate Clint.

"What happened?" Pietro asked, his voice breaking slightly.

"One of my suits malfunctioned." Tony replied, sounding guilty and worried.

Pietro closed his eyes and hung his head, quickly looking up again and staring at Clint, unblinking. The archer lay motionless, still not breathing, as a doctor pumped his chest.

"Come on Clint. Fight." Pietro whispered, not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

Clint's body suddenly convulsed violently and the doctors took a step back. He heaved in a long breath, red mist flying from his twitching fingers. Pietro, pushing past the doctors, who left the room, half ran, half limped over to the archer and sat down on the edge of his bed, laying his hands on Clint's.

Clint blinked open his eyes, staring around wildly, gasping in the air. He quickly gripped Pietro's wrists, provoking a short exclamation of surprise from the younger man. He began to struggle, trying to get up, but Pietro held him down.

"Hey, hey! It's alright. Calm down. You're safe." Pietro assured him, gently taking hold of his wrists in return.

Clint, stopping his struggles, started to relax slightly, dropped his head down, still gripping Pietro's wrists with unnatural strength. Mouth gaping, he forced himself to deepen his breathing. His vision became blurred with tears and he shut his eyes tightly to try and stop them. He slackened his hold, realising he was clutching Pietro's wrists like his life depended on it. Pietro slipped his hands out of Clint's, flexing his fingers to get the blood flowing again.

"Thi-This month isn't g-going very well, is it?" Clint murmured, keeping his eyes shut.

"Not really, no." Pietro agreed quietly.

Wanda came over; carefully pressing a small, white flannel to Clint's wound. He gritted his teeth, letting out a small noise of distress as it touched his flesh.

"Damn it." Clint muttered. "That suit's got some power."

"Sorry about that." Tony came over, his eyes narrowed with concern. "Glitch in the system… But I'll fix it, I promise."

Clint opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was a gasp as Wanda pressed the flannel harder against his wound.

"He nearly died Tony." She hissed through gritted teeth.

Pietro put a hand on her shoulder, making her look up at him. "It's not his fault."

She sighed and looked behind her, ready to apologise. But Tony wasn't there. The door shut quietly and Wanda could see him trudging down the corridor, hands in his pockets, his head hanging. Wanda let out a sound of regret and leapt up, running out of the room.

Pietro shuffled closer to Clint, taking the flannel and lifting it away from the wound. His breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of the bloodied and burnt injury. Tearing his gaze away, he wiped up the blood, still cascading down the left side of Clint's torso.

"All t-this dying is…" Clint paused to take in a struggling breath. "Tiring me out."

Pietro said nothing, continuing to try and stop the bleeding, wrapping a bandage tightly around the wound. The suit must have hit him straight in the chest. Noticing how pale Clint looked, he guessed the archer had lost a lot of blood. _He must be feeling it_ , Pietro decided. Clint's eyelids were flickering, looking as though he was about to pass out.

"Clint, stay awake." Pietro ordered as Clint's head fell slightly to the side, his eyes closed. Laying a hand on his jaw, Pietro turned his face upwards, making the archer blink open his eyes, letting out a short, quiet groan.

"Wh-why?" Clint stuttered.

 _Because if you close your eyes, I fear you will not open them again._ Pietro kept the thought to himself, saying nothing.

Clint's breathing became more and more ragged, as though he had something stuck in his throat. He swallowed and began to choke, rolling to his right side, coughing loudly. Gasping in the air, he fell back again, wincing.  
He pulled his right leg up and slipped his trouser leg past his knee. Another wound was visible on the side of his calf, blood slowly winding down his leg. He gritted his teeth, weakly grasping his leg so his palm covered the injury, adjusting his grip to clutch it harder as he felt blood trickle through his fingers.

Pietro frowned, leaning over Clint to look at his leg. Leaping up, Pietro ran around to the other side of the bed. He gently pulled Clint's hand away, which fell beside him, his fingers curled slightly, soaked in dark, red blood.  
Pietro quickly pressed the flannel to the source of the bleeding. Flinching as it touched his leg; Clint moved a little, pressing his head down and tensing. His arm fell, dangling limply off the side of the bed. Pietro carefully removed most of the blood which flowed down Clint's leg and bandaged the wound.

Soon, he became aware of a quiet dripping noise and turned around, looking down. A pool of blood was on the ground, beneath Clint's hand. As Pietro watched, a droplet formed at the tip of Clint's index finger and dropped onto the floor, falling into the puddle with a sickening splash.

Pietro turned his gaze to Clint; face falling as he saw the archer's eyes were closed. The faint rise and fall of his chest was barely visible, his left hand laid over his stomach, mouth slightly parted. The colour had completely drained from his face, as if all the blood had left his body.

"Clint..." Pietro murmured.

"Is he alright?"

Wanda ran into the room, sitting on Clint's left on the opposite side to Pietro. She lay her hand on Clint's arm, shaking him gently, growing afraid when he didn't respond.

"Clint?" She whispered, hesitantly.

"He's ok." Pietro assured her, moving her hand away from the archer's arm. "He's asleep. We shouldn't wake him."

Wanda turned her eyes to Clint and raised both hands to cover her mouth, stifling a sob. Getting to his feet, Pietro walk round the bed to her and she stood to meet him, taking hold of him in a tight hug. He let out a quiet noise of pain and she immediately stepped back, whispering fervent apologies. Taking her by the shoulders he pulled her into a hug again, she put her arms around him, gentler this time. Pietro rested his lips on her head, kissing her softly before closing his eyes and stroking her glossy hair, ignoring the dull pain from his ribs.

"You should go and get some rest." He said after a while. "I'll stay with him." He added as his sister cast a look at Clint.

After a moment of hesitation, Wanda nodded and walked out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind her. Pietro turned back to Clint, taking in a long breath before walking over and sitting on Clint's left. He rested his head in his hand, fixing his eyes on the unconscious man.

"Hard day, huh?" He whispered.

Laying down, he put his head on Clint's stomach, his cheek touching the archer's hand. He sighed, looking up at Clint for a moment before closing his eyes, falling asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

A loud, slow, beeping noise sounded.  
Pietro lifted his head, yawning, rubbing his eyes, which were still heavy with sleep. He frowned, sitting up and looking round to see what had woken him. A machine beside Clint was flashing and bleeping, the noise gradually getting louder and faster. Pietro's eyes widened, turning his head to look at Clint.

The archer was twitching and trembling, his fast breathing barely visible. He remained unresponsive as Pietro called his name, putting a hand on his unwounded leg and shaking him gently.

"Barton… Clint!" He raised his voice over the noisy machine.

Realising he couldn't wake Clint, Pietro raced to the door, opening it and calling for help. A few doctors answered his request, running into the room and beginning to work on Clint. Pietro stepped back as they fumbled around the archer, presumably doing something to slow his heart rate.

A shroud of red mist gathered around Clint's hands, growing bright, making Pietro gasp.

"Get down!" He ordered the doctors.

They obeyed, crouching on the floor as flames of red swept above them. Pietro shut his eyes against the strong wind and blinding light that accompanied the scarlet mist. The rushing noise stopped and his eyes flew open, jumping up and running over to Clint. The doctors came over to help but, seeing that Clint was stirring, Pietro knew that he wouldn't want to wake up to lots of people around him.

"You should go, please."

They seemed reluctant to leave him with the unstable archer but nodded and left the room.

Pietro turned back to Clint, laying his hand on his chest to check his heartbeat. It was still rather fast but slowing rapidly to its normal rate and the machine had stopped beeping. The archer let out a tiny groan, flickering open his eyes. His confused gaze wandered around the room, relaxing to a calmer realisation as he saw Pietro.

"Are you alright?" Pietro asked, trying to ease the concern from his expression.

"Yes." Clint replied, warily. "Why do you look so worried? Did I hurt someone?!" Clint began to try and sit up, looking around wildly, but was quickly detained by Pietro.

"No, it's ok. Calm down. Everyone's fine." Pietro assured him urgently.

He finally managed to make Clint relax enough for him to stop struggling. The archer lay back, shutting his eyes. A vision suddenly pressed against his mind and he flinched in surprise. Curiosity got the better of him and he roughly forced his way into the memory.

* * *

The room exploded with a loud crash and Clint gasped, skidding to a halt as the ceiling began to collapse, crushing the door. He threw the person in his arms out of the room, through the shower of rocks tumbling from above him.

He whipped around, diving to the left as the ceiling above his head gave way. He could bare breathe through the dust surrounding him, gasping in the air as he looked around wildly for an escape.

A large stone hit his shoulder and he let out a pained yell, abruptly cut off as a rock struck his head and he fell to the ground.

Darkness washed over his eyes before a new vision, of the battle in Sokovia, replaced the old one.

* * *

Pietro frowned as Clint flinched.  
He was about to ask what was wrong before pain flashed in his head. It felt like fire and ice were battling inside his mind. Leaning down, he gripped the edge of Clint's bed, head hanging. His throat closed up and he struggled for breath, taking in small, short gasps. Memories flickered in his head, vivid and clear.

Clint was looking through his mind.

The archer wasn't experienced with reading thoughts.

Sharp pain shot through Pietro's head and he couldn't withhold a cry of anguish.

"C-Clint?" He stuttered, heaving in the air. "Stop… S-Stop it."

Just when Pietro felt sure he had to shriek in pain, Clint opened his eyes. His iris' momentarily flashed red before easing into their usual colour. As the scarlet glow extinguished, Pietro felt the pain numb in his mind and he gasped, weak with relief and collapsed onto the floor on his hands and knees.

Clint immediately sat up and slid off the bed, wincing, falling onto the ground, kneeling beside an out of breath Pietro.

"Oh my god. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Clint apologised repeatedly.

Pietro opened and closed his mouth, trying to respond but he found himself unable to speak. His arms gave way, forearms hitting the ground and rolling onto his side, facing Clint. His eyes were wide open, unblinking, looking utterly shocked. He curled his body up slightly, his wrist about two inches from his face, shaking uncontrollably.

The door opened and Natasha came in, flicking through some notes. "Wanda? You in he…" Her voice trailed off as she spotted Pietro and Clint. "What happened?"

"Get Wanda." Clint ordered, becoming more commanding as Natasha hesitated. "Now!"

She raced out of the room, the door banging shut behind her.

Clint turned his gaze back to Pietro, dismay clouding his features as he saw the younger man's eyes were closed, his entire body still trembling.

"Pietro." Clint whispered urgently, taking Pietro's jaw in his hand, turning his face up before moving his hand to the back of Pietro's head, holding it off the floor a fraction. "Pietro… Come on kid, stay with me."

A crash sounded and Clint whipped around to see Wanda sprint in, Natasha close behind her. Wanda skidded to a halt beside her brother, crouching down next to him as Clint gently laid the younger man's head back on the floor.

"I'm sorry. It was my fault. I didn't mean to." Clint stuttered quickly.

Ignoring him, Wanda put one hand on Pietro's shoulder, the other hurriedly brushing loose strands of hair from his face before placing two fingers- her index and middle fingers- on his right temple.

Natasha, however, ran over to Clint, putting her hand on his back. "Can you stand?" She asked gently.

Clint hesitated, not wanting to leave Pietro, before answering truthfully. "I don't know."

"Try." She advised, taking a small step back.

He took in a deep breath and pushed his arms against the floor, letting out a quiet noise of distress as he got to his feet, leaning heavily against his bed. Natasha steadied him as he swayed, the lack of blood in his body making him dizzy. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Clint fixed his concerned gaze on Pietro and Wanda.

"You're bleeding." Natasha observed and went to collect another bandage from a table in the corner of the room.

Clint looked down, seeing that the bandage wrapped around the top left of his chest was soaked in blood, some of the red liquid had gone through, dripping down his torso. He untied it and took it off, clutching his hand to the wound. Natasha quickly ran over, sitting beside him and carefully taking his hand away, pressing a new cloth to the bleeding.

Looking back to Pietro, Clint saw that he had not moved and Wanda still had her, mist shrouded, hand pressed to the side of his head.

"You should lie down." Natasha murmured, glancing up at Clint. "You've lost a lot of blood."

Clint sighed. "Nat… I should be dead."

"No, Clint. You're fine. You're alive." Natasha told him.

Frowning, Clint tried to read her expression.

She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"You're keeping something from me." He said, slowly. "What is it?"

"Lie down." She repeated, avoiding his question.

* * *

 _'Pietro… Pietro, can you hear me?'_

A long pause.

 _'I-I can hear you.'_

Wanda blinked her eyes open. Pietro was still shivering, lying on the floor in front of her. She gently stroked his hair, trying to comfort him. She spoke into his mind again.

 _'Open your eyes.'_

Pietro hesitated before obeying, opening his eyes and flicking his gaze to Wanda. She was shocked to see tears glistening in his eyes. Blinking slowly, a single teardrop fell from the corner of his left eye, splashing onto the floor.

Wanda fought back a sob as Pietro shuffled, moving his arms so they were on either side of his body and tried to push himself up. Wanda helped him to sit up, his back to the wall.

"What happened?" She asked him as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

"Clint…" Pietro paused, lifting a hand to his head. "Mind reading."

"Why would…" Wanda began but Pietro interrupted her.

"He didn't mean to."

Wanda hid her doubt, shaking her head to scatter it. _Clint wouldn't deliberately hurt Pietro._

"It bought back memories better left forgotten." Pietro murmured, closing his eyes.

Wanda said nothing, getting to her feet and nudging Pietro, offering him her hand. Her brother blinked open his eyes and, sighing slightly, took her wrist. She gripped his in return and helped him to his feet, trying to block out his pained noises. Leaning against the wall, Pietro put a hand to the side of his head, wincing a little.

"Do you need help to walk?"

Pietro shook his head to Wanda's question. "I can manage."

He walked forward, limping slightly, and pushed himself onto his bed, almost contradicting himself as he stumbled on the way. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Pietro buried his face in the hands, closing his eyes.

Wanda sat beside him and he moved his hands back, brushing back his hair and placing both on the back of his neck. He fixed his eyes on the ground, his face expressionless.

"Wanda."

Wanda looked up as Natasha said her name and got to her feet, rushing over to stand beside Clint's bed.

"What is it? Is he alright?" She asked, looking down at Clint.

The archer seemed to be unconscious, lying on the bed with his eyes closed. He was motionless, unresponsive as Natasha, who was sat next to him, adjusted her grip on the cloth covering his wound.

"He's lost way too much blood." Natasha mumbled.

Wanda leaned forward, gently lifting Clint's left eyelid with her thumb. She inspected his eye before carefully closing his eyelid.

"Is he going to die?"

Wanda and Natasha turned around as Pietro's voice sounded behind them. He was still sat on the edge of his bed, his arms folded, looking over at Clint worriedly.

"No Pietro. He's not going to die." Wanda assured her brother, looking determined.  
"I won't let him."

* * *

 **A/N- Sorry, way longer than usual. Also, quick question... Is anyone actually still reading this story? XD**


	18. Chapter 18

"Sorry?"

"I think you heard me Barnes."

Bucky was still staring at Nicholas Fury in complete and utter shock. He couldn't find any words.

 _Fury wanted him in the avengers?! Was he being serious?_

A chuckle sounded from his right and he turned to glance at Steven.

"Well?"

"I-I'll have to think about it." Bucky decided.

He didn't think he was ready for that kind of commitment yet. An image flickered in his mind but, before he could see it properly, it vanished again. He kept having second long flashbacks, sometimes too brief to take notice _.  
I know who this guy is_, he told himself.

"Fine." Fury didn't sound surprised and slumped back in his chair, spinning it around, so his back was to Bucky. "Let me know when you've decided."

As Steve and Bucky left the room, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he might be making a mistake.  
 _After all he's done… Do I really want him to help protect people?  
Romanoff seems to trust him, _he reflected, _and so does Rogers. Maybe it's time I started to as well._

* * *

Pietro opened his eyes slowly and frowned.

 _Did I fall asleep?_

He lifted his head up, looking around the pitch black room. Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he slid off, rubbing a hand to his head. A noise clattered behind him and he spun around, narrowing his eyes into the darkness.

"Hello?" He called, hesitantly.

Silence… Then.

 _'Smash!'_

Pietro jumped, beginning to pant.

"Who's there?" He just managed to stop his voice from shaking, lifting his chin, trying to look defiant.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he stiffened. He felt eyes burning the back of his head.  
Someone was watching him.

He clenched his fists before flexing his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he whipped around, raising his arms to cover his face as a bright, white light pierced through the black.

A muffled voice echoed through his ears and he lowered his arms. Flinching slightly at the brightness, he narrowed his eyes, straining to hear the voice.

"Pietro!"

His eyes flew open, letting out a startled gasp and sat bolt upright on the bed. He sprang up, off the bed, reaching the corner of the room in less than a second and leaning against the wall. Looking around wildly, he gasped in the air, chest heaving. For a terrifying moment, he thought he was back in the Hydra cell, until a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Calm down, calm down! It was just a dream."

He met Wanda's gentle gaze and relaxed slightly, letting out a quiet sigh. Sliding down the wall, he sat on the floor, hanging his head and trying to deepen his breathing.

Wanda raced over and crouched beside him, brushing back the hair from his face.

"Are you okay?"

She sounded really worried, worried enough to make Pietro look up. He was shaking visibly but managed to give her a small, brisk nod.

Her eyes narrowed slightly in sympathy. "I don't think you are."

She stood up, offering him her hand. He didn't move, appearing not to see it as his unfocused gaze was now set on the floor.

"Pietro." Wanda prompted him and he raised his head.

He got to his feet, without the help of his sister and glanced around the room. Clint was still lying in his bed, seeming to be asleep. As Pietro watched, the archer shuffled slightly, murmuring something in his sleep. Wanda was still looking at him with an anxious expression and Pietro let out a quiet sigh.

"I'm fine. Bad dream, that's all."

He put a hand to his ribs, pressing his fingers down lightly.

It didn't hurt.

"Couple of rocks won't stop me." He promised, half to himself, raising his head determinedly.

"I doubt anything will." Wanda commented quietly.

Pietro rested his eyes on Clint as the archer moved again.

"Do you know if he's going to be okay?" He asked, not shifting his gaze.

"Yes, I know. He's not going to die. Don't worry."

Pietro sighed and shut his eyes. "I don't want him to either."

Wanda shook her head. "You misunderstand." She took Pietro's chin in her hand, making him open his eyes, and turning his head towards her. "He… Can't die."

Pietro frowned. "What?"

"He's got my power, but a more extreme version. His power can help him to heal if someone makes an attempt on his life."

"So he can't die like.. ever?"

"No… well… It's complicated… Okay, you know I bought him back to life after Bucky strangled him?"

Pietro flinched inwardly at the memory but forced himself to nod.

"Well, at that point his powers weren't developed enough for him to heal. But now his power can recognise what would kill him. Say if someone shot him in the heart right now, he could unconsciously heal himself with his powers. He's not immortal though," Wanda added. "He can still die of age."

Pietro nodded slowly in understanding. "I get it. So, if he hadn't received your power then he would have died of blood loss by now?"

Wanda flicked her eyes to Clint. "Yes."

Pietro nodded again and walked over to Clint, delighted that he didn't have to limp anymore. He sat on the edge of Clint's bed, laying a hand on the Archer's forehead for a second, before stroking back his hair. Clint mumbled something in his sleep, to quiet to hear at first. Pietro leant a little closer, trying to catch some of the quiet words.

"No, please… Pietro…"

He straightened up, beginning to wonder if he'd heard wrong.

 _Is Clint having a nightmare?_

There was no other explanation. Clint _was_ having a nightmare… about the battle in Sokovia.

Pietro was devastated. It felt like someone had just dug a shard of ice into his heart. _This is all my fault._

He asked himself why Clint would dream about that, of all things.  
Did he feel responsible?  
Did Pietro really mean so much to him?  
Least likely of all, did Clint feel protective towards him like… A father?

Pietro shook the questions away, focusing his attention back to the archer. He was still murmuring, shuffling restlessly. Pietro was about to try and wake him, when his eyes shot wide open, scrambling quickly into a sitting position.

Panting heavily, he stared at the foot of his bed for a moment, before swallowing and allowing his breathing to become deeper and clearer. He looked to his left, sighing and closing his eyes as he met Pietro's gaze. As he hung his head he whispered 'thank god' under his breath.

 _He's alive, he's alright,_ he told himself, furious for being scared.

"You okay?" Pietro asked, trying to pretend nothing was wrong.

Clint nodded. "Fine, I'm fine."

Pietro glanced at his wound. There was no sign of blood, to his relief, and Clint was looking quite a lot better, his, previously pale, face had regained some colour.

Pietro cast a look at Wanda, clearly meaning 'does he know he can't die?'

His sister shook her head slightly and took a deep breath.

"Clint."

The archer looked up at her, tilting his head to one side. "What is it?"

Wanda paused for a moment, deciding how to explain.  
"I've got something to tell you."


	19. Chapter 19

"You want to test that theory?"

Clint let out a short exhale of laughter at Natasha's question. "So, how are you planning to do that? Just shoot me and see what happens?"

Natasha smiled a little. "I don't think so."

The corner of Pietro's mouth twitched in slight amusement, but recent memories prevented him from smiling properly. Wanda, who was sat next to Clint, ran her fingers lightly over the bandaged wound on his chest. His eyes narrowed for less than a second as he winced a little.

"Sorry." Wanda apologised, miraculously noticing this and immediately drawing her hand away.

"It's fine." Clint assured her, shaking his head slightly. "It doesn't really hurt that much anymore." He murmured, only half truthfully.

Pietro, who had experienced enough trauma to tell when people were in pain, didn't believe him for a second. However, he held his tongue, saying nothing.

Clint untied the bandage from his chest, putting it on the bed beside him and running his fingers lightly over the white edged, scarred wound.  
It sent pain lacing through his chest, but he forced himself not to flinch.

He lowered his hand and flexed it experimentally, sending small, red flickers from his hand.

"Clint." Pietro warned. "Don't."

"It's fine. I can do it."

Pietro let out a frustrated breath and turned away, walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Wanda frowned and took a step towards the closed door but Clint beat her to it, springing up, grabbing his shirt and pulling over his head, and jogging towards the exit.

Natasha put her hand around Wanda's wrist, gently holding her back.

"Let Clint deal with it." She murmured.

* * *

"Pietro, wait!"

Letting out a small sigh, Pietro halted and turned around, seeing Clint running towards him. He turned again and continued walking, not raising his head as Clint came up beside him.

"What's up?" Clint asked, matching Pietro's pace.

"You." He answered bluntly.

"What have I done? Why are you so upset?" The archer questioned, sounding genuinely confused.

"I'm not upset." Pietro protested. "You're just so… So…" He searched for the right phrase. "You just don't care about yourself, do you?"

Clint frowned. "I don't understand."

"You do things that make you hurt yourself." Pietro growled, sounding a little angry.

"It's not like I mean to! Anyway… Why does that affect you?"

Pietro walked a few more steps before the words began to make sense and he halted in shock. "Because I…" He paused, realising that Clint was no longer next to him.

He spun round, dismay clouding his features as he saw the archer leaning with his back against the wall of the hallway, taking deep breaths. Pietro raced over, stopping beside him.

"What is it? Are you okay?" He asked, putting his hand on Clint's shoulder.

"I-I'm fine, just a bit dizzy."

He contradicted himself as his eyes flickered shut and he fell to the side. Pietro reached forward quickly and caught him before he hit the floor. He lowered the archer gently onto the ground, fear rising as he saw Clint's face; it was ashen grey, his eyes shut, and he was barely breathing.

"Clint! Clint, can you hear me?" Pietro called desperately. "Please wake up."

Pietro brushed back the archer's hair with his hand, trying to rouse him. After a few seconds of unbearable silence, Clint suddenly gasped in a hoarse, struggling breath, choking slightly. He rolled onto his side, turning his face to the floor and coughing, heaving in the air. As his coughing subsided and died down, Pietro carefully moved Clint so he was lying facing the ceiling. He blinked open his eyes and, wincing, slowly pushed himself up.

"Are you alright?" Pietro questioned, deeply regretting his earlier conversation with the archer.

"Yeah, yeah." Clint assured him, waving his hand dismissively as he leant back against the wall.

"Sorry." Pietro apologised repeatedly. "I'm so sorry, I just…" He paused and took a deep breath. "I'm worried about you… and I don't want you to get hurt." A small voice in his head muttered _'Bit late for that, genius'_. _'Shut it brain',_ Pietro flashed back. "I didn't mean to sound like I was angry with you."

Clint blinked in confusion and surprise and raised his head, looking up at the younger man. "You're… Worried? About me?"

Pietro nodded, a bit embarrassed, but said nothing. Getting to his feet, he held his hand out to Clint, who took it, allowing Pietro to help him up.

He took in a sharp breath as he stood, his chest burning with pain.

"Do you need help?"

Shaking his head to Pietro's question, Clint decided it would be better for his dignity if he walked by himself. He immediately regretted refusing the offer as, when he began to limp back down the corridor, he felt like he was going to collapse, the hallway spinning around him.

Lightheaded, he limped back into the medical room, Pietro close behind him.

"You look dreadful." Natasha commented as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "What happened?"

"I… I'm not really sure. I think I might have passed out." Clint muttered, running his fingers through his hair.

Natasha's eyes widened and she sat next to him, laying her hand on his chest to feel his heart beat. She cast a questioning look at Pietro, meaning 'Did he actually?' He gave her a tiny nod, looking worried. Turning back to Clint, Natasha noticed that he was sort of falling asleep sitting up. She nudged him gently, jolting him awake.

"Lie down." She said softly.

Clint murmured in agreement, swinging his legs up onto the bed and lying with his back to the others. Sleep came easily, slipping into unconsciousness as soon as his eyes closed.


	20. Chapter 20

"So?"

Bucky raised his head as Steve entered the room, shutting the door soundlessly behind him. From where he sat on his bed, Bucky sighed silently and shrugged, turning his head away to look out the window in the centre of the back wall.  
Outside, the sky was grey and stormy, dark clouds covered it as far as he could see. A low rumble of thunder sounded and Bucky closed his eyes, the sound bringing back some unclear, long buried memory.

"Have you not given it any thought?" Steve asked, sitting on the bed beside him.

"I have." Bucky replied quietly. "And I don't think it will end well."

"Why?"

Half surprised to hear no scorn or challenge in Steve's voice, Bucky turned his head round. Kind, understanding eyes stared back at him.

"Because no one trusts me and I don't know why." Bucky murmured, hanging his head.

A buzzing noise sounded in his ears, blocking out Steve's next words. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the sound, but it just grew louder and louder, threatening to overwhelm him. Bucky took in a startled breath, closing his eyes tightly as a vision swept over him.

* * *

"Report."

Bucky didn't look up at the man standing a few paces away from him. Glaring at the floor, he realised he didn't remember anything.

"Report!"

He frowned. _Report… Means there was a mission?_

"Goddam it." A voice muttered, tense with frustration.

A clenched fist met his jaw and he coughed at the taste of blood, jerking his head up in surprise. Again and again he was beaten, until blood dripped freely from his mouth.

As the hand flew at him again, he raised his metal arm, snapping the bond that held him to the chair, and punched it away. The man sprung back, wincing as he inspected his arm. Someone tried to restrain him and he hit them away too, inspiring a shocked exclamation from the other man.

His body seized up and he felt a jolt like lighting running through him and let out a pained yell. When it finally ended, Bucky's head was hanging limply, not possessing the strength to lift it. He panted heavily, chest heaving as he fought for air. Someone took hold of his jaw and roughly forced his head up.

"Maybe next time you'll think twice before disobeying."

* * *

Bucky's eyes shot open, gasping in short, quick breaths. He realised he had fallen back so he was lying on his bed, facing the ceiling, his legs dangling off the side.

"Bucky! Bucky, are you alright?!"

He struggled up, swiping his hair from his face and trying to deepen his laboured breathing. Glancing to the side, he saw Steve's worried and slightly wary face looking back at him.

"Are you okay?" Steve repeated, bracing himself in case Bucky didn't remember him.

"Was that…" He broke off, swallowing. "Was that real?"

Steve frowned. "Was what real?"

"They-They tortured me… They made me…" His voice trailed off, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

"Who did?" Steve asked softly, anxiousness for his friend rapidly increasing.

Bucky opened his mouth, the answer ready on his tongue. It slipped from his mind like a single drop of rain falling from a leaf.

"I-I can't remember."

He suddenly let out a quiet gasp, vision burring as he swayed and fell slightly to the side, stopping himself from falling with a hand and a forearm. Steve edged closer, putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder and hesitantly murmuring his name.

Bucky pushed himself back up, brushing the loose strands of hair from his face.

"If I don't cut this, it's going to drive me crazy." He muttered, trying to lighten the serious mood.

The sentence earned him a half smile from Steve, immediately making Bucky feel a little better after the terrifying vision.

"Is that man okay?" He asked, suddenly remembering.

"What man?" Steve questioned, confused at the sudden change of topic.

"The man with the white hair." Bucky answered, a little hesitant in case he had died and was a friend of Steve's. "He's alright isn't he?"

"Oh, you mean Pietro. Yes, he's okay." Steve's expression changed to a kind of relieved realisation.

"Is he…" Bucky paused, not wanting to sound churlish. "Is he an avenger or-?"

"Yes, he's an avenger." Steve interrupted him, making Bucky understand that the subject was delicate and not to be taken lightly.

"Sorry," Bucky murmured. "I didn't mean to be tactless."

Steve shook his head. "You weren't… its fine." He took in a long breath, blowing it out again as a quiet sigh. "Let me tell you about Pietro."

* * *

Clint blinked open his eyes, narrowing them against the unfamiliar light.

He rolled his head to the side, seeing Natasha and Wanda talking quietly in a corner, their backs to him. _I do not want to get up_ , he thought to himself, tiredness suddenly catching up with him. Sighing, he shut his eyes, moving his head back facing the ceiling, and allowed his body to relax completely.

He heard a quiet noise, and, drowsily, half-opened one eye, seeing Pietro entering the room and quietly shutting the door behind him. Clint re-closed his eye, letting out a long and silent sigh and rolling to the side.

Noticing this, Pietro sped over to Clint's bed, stopping with an expert precision. He looked down at the archer, sympathy welling up inside of him.

"Don't do that." Clint murmured quietly, opening his eyes and flicking his gaze to Pietro.

Pietro's eyes widened in shock. "Were you reading my thoughts?"

"I didn't have to."

Pietro didn't reply, burying his pity in the back corners of his mind.

"You look tired." He observed after a long moment of silence.

Clint smiled slightly. "I am," he admitted.

"Are you going to sleep?" Pietro asked.

The archer let out another sigh, closing his eyes. "I don't think it'll do much good."

"Bad dreams?"

Clint froze in surprise. _How does he know?_ Suddenly, he realised that Pietro must have had his fair share of nightmares; after all he's been through.

"Yeah." He finally admitted. "I-" He broke off, wondering if he should share his feelings with Pietro. "I feel like I need to be doing something useful instead of just wasting people's time."

Pietro stiffened. "Wasting people's time?" He repeated, disbelievingly. "Clint, you are not a waste of time. Never think that."

The corner of Clint's mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. Pietro was going to continue, but decided against it, sitting on the edge of Clint's bed. He stroked his fingers through the archer's hair rhythmically, eventually lulling him back to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

Pietro looked over his shoulder as a noise sounded behind him.

Clint was on his hands and knees on the floor next to his bed, Natasha crouched beside him. Her hand was laid on his back and he was coughing hoarsely, struggling to breathe as the coughs shook his body.

Pietro ran over to him, leaving blue strands of mist wavering momentarily in the air before they evaporated, skidding to a clumsy halt beside the archer and kneeling on his other side. The choking noises finally subsided and he swayed, collapsing to one side. He let out a quiet gasp as his left forearm and thigh hit the floor.

As he tried to get up again, Natasha detained him, pushing him down so he was lying on his side.

"Lie still for a moment." She advised, sounding oddly gentle.

He was trembling visibly, shutting his eyes and drawing in long, deep breaths. Pietro's heart twisted in a painful sympathy. After about five minutes of lying there, allowing Natasha to run her fingers through his hair, Clint opened his eyes. He pushed against the floor with his hands, sitting up onto his knees. Raising a hand to his head, he shut his eyes briefly before brushing back his hair and blinking a few times, clearing his blurred vision.

Suddenly frowning, he took his hand away from his head, turning it over and over. He flexed and clenched his fingers a couple of times.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked anxiously.

Clint took a while to answer, looking at his hand through eyes narrowed with confusion. "I can't feel my power. Usually I can feel it, like, in my blood." He explained quietly.

Before Natasha could reply he lifted his hand and pointing it at one of the counters- which bordered the left and right walls of the room. Red mist gathered, shrouding his trembling fingers in glowing scarlet.

"Clint, stop." Pietro ordered, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice.

Clint drew his hand to the side slightly but it quickly flicked back, as if it was magnetized.

"I… can't." He half choked out the words.

"Control. Clint, please. Try and control it." Natasha begged, about to try and pull Clint's hand back.

"Don't touch me." Clint warned, making her freeze. "I can't stop it."

"Then what…" Pietro began; Clint cut him off.

"Run."

Pietro was about to protest but Natasha quickly ushered him up and out of the room.

Clint narrowed his eyes as the door shut, trying to regain control. His fingers trembled as red mist flew from his hand, surrounding the cabinet door. Before he could try and stop it, the door from the counter was ripped off its hinges, clattering to the floor. The scarlet encasing the motionless object dissolved, evaporating into the air.

Clint fell backwards, legs stretched out in front of him, keeping his head from hitting the floor by using his arms to prop himself up. The door opened and Pietro raced in, sliding to a stop and kneeling next to Clint.

"Are you alright?" He asked, growing afraid when Clint didn't answer immediately. "Clint?"

"Yeah… yeah, fine." Clint replied, a little out of breath.

He scrambled to his feet. Pietro steadied him as he swayed and Clint shook his head to clear his blurred vision.

"I'm never going to get it right, am I?" He muttered, sounding downcast.

"You will." Pietro encouraged. "You just… need some time."

The words felt lame on his tongue.

Clint shut his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Pietro he didn't believe that for a second. _I'm just wasting his time, there's nothing he can do to help me, so why is he even trying?_

The walls felt like they were closing in on him. He was suddenly aware of the fragility of the ceiling, of the floor. _I have to get out of here._

He put on a burst of speed, pushing past Pietro and Natasha and racing out of the room. He ran down the corridor, turning the corner sharply before abruptly stopping and collapsing against a wall. Sliding down and falling the ground, he clutched both hands to the back of his head, his breathing fast and heavy.

* * *

Pietro sped after Clint, leaving Natasha behind. He skidded round a corner and stopped beside Clint, who was sitting with his back to the wall, both knees up in front of him. His face was hidden by his arms and he was drawing in quick, irregular breaths.

Natasha came into view and Pietro held up a hand, gesturing for silence. She seemed to understand, crouching silently next to Pietro, her worried eyes fixed on Clint. He was obviously trying to calm himself by deepening his breathing but was failing, still panting quickly.

"Clint?" Pietro quietly tested asking his name.

The archer didn't respond, shaking his head slightly and burying his face in his knees. Reaching out a hand, Pietro hesitantly laid it on Clint's back. After a few minutes, he noticed Clint's breathing begin to deepen. Clint swallowed and inhaled a couple of long breaths, blowing them out slowly.

"Are you okay?" Pietro whispered quietly.

Clint hesitated for a second before nodding.

"Was that what I think it was?" He murmured after a while, voice muffled by his arms.

"I think you might have just had an anxiety attack." Natasha replied softly, confirming his fears. "Are you hurt?" She added as Clint didn't answer.

He raised his head, taking his hands away. "No." He muttered, "I'm fine."

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Pietro cast him a dubious look. Clint sighed silently and pushed his hands against the floor, hauling himself to his feet. Pietro immediately scrambled up beside him, Natasha getting to her feet on his other side.

"Clint, are you sure y-"

"I said I'm fine." Clint interrupted Pietro, his voice sharp. Too late, he realised he was being churlish and sighed at his own stupidity. "Sorry. I didn't mean…"

"It's okay." Now it was Pietro's turn to interrupt. "Don't worry about it…" He paused, not wanting to offend Clint's pride. "Can you walk, or do you need help?"

Clint shook his head. "I got it."

He took in a silent breath and began to walk back to the medical room, surprisingly finding it easier than usual.

 _Please say I'm going to control it._ He thought to himself. _I don't want to hurt anyone anymore._


	22. Chapter 22

"Clint? Clint!"

Clint didn't open his eyes. He could hear Pietro calling his name, but he was so close to controlling his power. He didn't know how, or why, but he was just so close. His hands were trembling. His power was rushing through his blood. Scarlet mist was forming at his fingertips.

He could dimly remember falling asleep, having a nightmare about killing Pietro with his power before he had felt it in reality. He was desperately trying to control his power, scared that his nightmare would come true.

Something inside him wanted Pietro to get hurt. _No!_ Clint stubbornly disobeyed that side of him. _No, leave him alone!_

"Clint!? Can you hear me?"

 _Shut up!_ Clint squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. He was writhing uncontrollably, his body twisting as he fought for control. Pietro was stroking his hand through his hair, trying to calm him. _If I can't control it I'm going to kill him!_ Clint realised with a jolt of fear. _Pietro run! Please run, just go!_ Deep down, he knew Pietro would never leave him like this.

"Wake up. Clint, come on. Wake up!"

Pietro was scared. Clint could feel his fear. It surged off of him in waves. Clint snapped his mind away from Pietro's emotions. He needed to concentrate. He _had_ to control it.  
It couldn't end like this.

"Pietro…" Clint breathed the words in between gasping in the air. Pietro had to understand. His life was in danger. "Please… Run…"

"No." Pietro murmured, running his fingers through Clint's hair. "No, I'm not leaving you."

Clint clenched his fists, twisting and shaking violently. His blood was burning. It felt like fire sweeping through his body. His jaws parted in a soundless wail of distress. _I can't do it,_ Clint thought to himself. His thrashing and writhing was growing weaker as powerful spasms shuddered through his body. Pietro put a hand to his shoulder, limiting his struggles. _Oh god, I'm going to kill him._

 _No… No, I'm not letting that happen!_

With a forceful flick of his hands, Clint banished his power, the red smoke quickly evaporating into the air. He relaxed, rolling to his side, falling limp as the spasms decreased. He tensed and shuddered as the final one shook his body. The weight of Pietro's hand lifted from his shoulder and a moment later, Clint felt it touch his cheek. He flickered open his eyes, chest heaving as he fought in the air. Pietro was looking down at him, worry glistening in his blue eyes.

"I-I stopped it." Clint stuttered in a hushed voice.

Pietro's eyes narrowed in sympathy, pity flowing from him.

"Pietro…" Clint whispered. If this power was going to kill him, then he wanted to apologise first. "I'm sorry. F-for everything…"

Swallowing back his sorrow, Pietro hushed him softly. "There's nothing to be sorry for." He murmured, running his fingers through Clint's hair. "Now, go to sleep. Regain your strength."

 _But you died for me…_ Clint had the words ready on his tongue, but when he opened his mouth no sound was uttered. A quiet sigh escaped his lips as his eyes fluttered shut, slipping into the darkness of sleep.

* * *

The wind outside was cold and brisk. Bucky raised a hand, running his fingers through his newly cut hair. It looked more like it did during the war now.

He was sat on the edge of the patch of grass outside the avengers tower, his back to the trunk of a large maple tree. A huge oak had fallen onto the lawn; a patch of grass beside it had died. Bucky frowned. That wasn't normal. _What had happened here?_

Soon, he became aware of quiet footsteps coming up behind him, gradually growing louder as the person neared. He scrambled to his feet and turned to face the forest, relaxing a little as he saw it was an agent, presumably out for a run. _Part of shield?_ He wondered. The man stared back at him, his eyes wide with shock. Without warning, he took a pistol from a hold on his belt and fired it. Bucky let out a gasp, a sharp pain jolting through his chest. The gun fired again and Bucky quickly raised his hand, the bullet lodging in his metal arm.

"Stop!"

He twisted round, relieved to see Steve sprinting over from across the lawn. His vision clouded and he stumbled backwards. A hand lay on his back, steadying him. Looking to the side, he saw Steve's worried face looking down at him.

"Are you alright? Did he hit you?" Steve asked, concern lacing his words.

Bucky raised a hand, touching it to his chest, close to his heart. Drawing it back, he saw dark scarlet blood coating his fingers, the liquid warm on his skin. Steve narrowed his eyes, anxiousness coming off him in waves.

"Okay…" He murmured. "Okay, you're okay. Don't worry."

"Yeah," Bucky muttered sarcastically. "I've just been shot in the chest I'm com-" He broke off wincing. "-Completely fine."

Steve let out a quiet breath of brief amusement. Bucky suddenly fell limp against him and Steve carefully picked him up in his arms, the brief amusement immediately evaporating.

"Hey, James? Come on, stay with me." Steve urged, running back to the tower.

"Since when d-did you call m-me James?" Bucky asked, still holding a flash of his joking flare even though he was in an immense amount of pain. "And th-this isn't good for my dignity." He added, his unfocused gaze flicking around above him.

"You're seriously thinking about dignity now?" Steve asked, amusement mixing oddly with his concern.

Bucky smiled weakly. "What else d-do you think about when y-you're dying?"

"Shut up, you're not going to die." Steve reassured him, racing into the lift and hurriedly pressing the button to the medical floor. "Oh my gosh, this lift goes so slowly." He muttered, impatiently, under his breath.

He looked down at Bucky. Fear surged through him as he saw his eyes were closed, his breathing fast and shallow. Steve quietly asked his name, a tiny spark of relief flashing as Bucky flickered open his eyes, squinting up at his friend. Anguish made him wince, his face contorting with pain. The lift shuddered to a halt and the doors opened. Steve raced out, nearly running into Natasha who was walking towards the lift. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Bucky, cradled in Steve's arms.

"What the…" She broke off, running beside Steve. "What happened?"

"Someone shot him. Go get the doctors." Steve ordered, kicking open a door to an empty medical room.

Natasha nodded curtly and sprinted away. Leaning down, Steve gently laid Bucky on a bed, which was pushed against the centre of the back wall. Bucky swallowed painfully, trying hard to deepen his breathing. A few coughs shook his body. Pain shot through his chest and he let out a quiet, distressed noise. Steve quickly, carefully stripped off his shirt, exposing the wound. He caught his breath. The bullet had hit scarily close to his heart. Blood was welling at the injury, cascading a tidal of red down Bucky's pale torso.

The door opened with a bang and four doctors raced in, Natasha close behind.

They immediately got to work, desperately trying to stop the blood flowing from Bucky's chest. He flicked his gaze to the left side, resting his cloudy eyes on Steve for a heartbeat before they fluttered shut and he slipped into unconsciousness.


	23. Chapter 23

"Do you think he's waking up?"

"It's about time isn't it?"

"Well he's been through a lot in the last month. I think he deserves a good sleep."

"Guys, shut up. If he wasn't waking up before then he certainly is now, because you're making enough noise to wake someone in England."

Clint heard the voices. He recognised them too. Which was a relief. So far, he'd heard Natasha, Thor, Wanda and Pietro. He blinked open his eyes.

"Hey Barton." Thor grinned, looking down at him from the left of his bed.

 _Awesome,_ Clint thought to himself. _Not going crazy._ "Hi." He murmured. "What're you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, just spectating." Natasha replied sarcastically. "What do you think we're doing here you idiot?"

Clint let out a breath of laughter and pushed his hands against the bed, moving himself up into a sitting position, leaning with his back to the wall. Surprisingly, he was feeling much better. _Have I learnt to control it?_ He asked himself, hope flaming inside him.

"You okay?" Wanda asked.

Clint nodded. "Yeah," he murmured truthfully. "I actually feel pretty good."

"Do you think you're well enough to come on missions yet?" Natasha asked, though she looked dubious. "Because I'm guessing Steve's not going to join us for a while."

Fear jolted through Clint. "Why? What happened? Is he alright?"

Natasha nodded. "Yeah, _he's_ fine. But some agent shot Bucky, so Steve'll want to stay with him… Tony's there too. I guess Steve figured he's the best with metal arms."

Clint wanted to feel sorry for him. But Bucky had literally killed him. _That wasn't his fault though,_ Clint argued with himself. _Remember Loki? You've actually got quite a lot in common with Bucky._ "Is he okay?"

Natasha's eyes widened a little in surprise. Obviously she hadn't expected Clint to be worried. "I don't know." She admitted. "He was hit pretty close to his heart… So, there's a likely chance he could die."

Clint didn't answer, an odd feeling of grief prickling his heart. He didn't want Bucky to die. Because he knew, if he did, there would be no way to bring him back. Wanda certainly wouldn't agree to use her power on him. He frowned to himself. _Emotions… They're hard..._

* * *

Bucky dimly heard a thumping noise, echoing in his ears.

It was quick and irregular. It was his heartbeat. Pain lanced through his chest every time he took in a breath. He knew he was lying on his back, on a soft surface, presumably a bed. His right hand was rested on his bare stomach, the other- the metal one- was at his side. Someone was holding down his left wrist, fumbling around inside his metal forearm. Bucky tried to move his arm away but found he couldn't move anything except his fingers. The person stiffened, halting halfway through fixing something inside his arm. He rolled his head slowly to the left side, though not opening his eyes.

"Steve." He heard a voice call. "I think he's waking up."

Rushed footsteps immediately approached and someone sat down on the right side of his bed. He flickered open his eyes a fraction. A dark haired man sat on a chair beside his bed, holding his metal wrist with one hand and some tweezers in the other. He glanced up at Bucky for a second before lowering his gaze to continue his work. Bucky looked at him curiously.

"Who are you?" He asked, his eyes questioning, yet dull with pain.

"Tony Stark." The man replied bluntly, not looking up as he extracted a shard of glass from the bionic arm.

"You're Ironman?" A tiny hint of disbelief showed in Bucky's voice.

Steve had shown him news reports on the avenger's missions, yet he had never seen ironman's face. He also had no idea what The Hulk looked like in human form, but pictured him as a heavily built soldier. Though, looking at Tony, he could see that the man could easily be a formidable opponent.

Tony smiled slightly. "What were you expecting?"

Bucky didn't reply, the corner of his mouth twitching in the beginnings of a smile. He looked to his right. Steve was sat on the edge of the bed, head tilted to the side slightly as he looked down at his friend.

"Are you alright?" Bucky raised an eyebrow and Steve exhaled a short breath of amusement. "Okay, stupid question."

Pain shot through his chest again and Bucky tensed, rolling his head back to face the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, gritting his teeth. If he had the strength, then he would clench his fists but was too weak.

"Bucky?" He heard dimly Steve's anxious voice.

Forcing his eyes to open, he blew out a long breath, trying to control the pain. His gaze flicked to Steve, who was leant over him, his eyes glistening with worry.

"End of the line." Bucky whispered, his voice thick with anguish.

Steve shook his head, gently gripping a hand to the side of Bucky's neck. "Not yet. We can hold on a bit longer." He assured the wounded man, stroking a thumb to his pale cheek. "Just hang on. You'll be fine."

Bucky swallowed painfully, about to reply before his vision clouded with darkness. He let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering shut as his head dropped to the side, falling into unconsciousness.


	24. Chapter 24

"Tony…"

"Busy."

Steve shut his mouth, seeing that Tony was deep in concentration. He was picking some tweezers in Bucky's metal forearm; presumably the bullet had interfered with something inside it. His brow was furrowed in a frustrated, and slightly worried, frown. He swore under his breath and a second later a powerful shock jerked Bucky's limp form. Reaching out a hand, Steve gently stroked his friend's hair back, making a soft hushing noise until Bucky relaxed again.

Tony scratched a hand to the back of his head, his expression concerned.

"What happened?" Steve asked quietly.

Tony folded his arms, leaning back in his chair. "Hit a wire." He explained. "If he'd been conscious he would've screamed like hell. Thing is…" He continued, twirling the tweezers in his fingers. "The bullet's stuck in a ton of wires… But I have to get it out, because if it stays in there then the arm won't work." He paused again, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

"Why don't you just put him to sleep and then do it?" Steve suggested.

"No can do." Tony replied, shaking his head almost regretfully. "It's complicated. He has to feel it; I have to know what wires do what. Anyway, the pain would be so intense he'd feel it even in unconsciousness. I guess I could try and numb the pain somehow…" He rubbed a hand to his forehead and sighed. "I don't even know… I need to think."

For the first time, Steve noticed how tired he looked. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, giving him an exhausted look, and his skin was pale. Steve guessed he suffered from insomnia.

"You should go get some rest." He murmured. "You look tired."

He was faintly surprised when Tony, with a small sigh, nodded and pushed himself off the chair. With a final glance at Bucky, he made his way out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. As if the closing door was a signal, Bucky's fingers- on his right hand- twitched. Steve flicked his eyes to his hand.

Bucky slowly opened his eyes. He winced. It felt like he had just been struck by lightning, a throbbing ache in his head and heart.

"How're you feeling?"

"Not dead yet." Bucky replied, looking down at his arm. Then he switched his gaze to Steve. "What happened? I-I felt… something… It hurt."

"Tony was trying to fix your arm and he… He said he 'hit a wire'." Explained Steve.

Bucky frowned, narrowing his eyes up at the ceiling. A dim, blurred memory was flickering in his mind but, when he tried to focus on it, it slipped away. He raised his right hand, running his fingers through his short hair.

"What is it?" Steve asked, sounding worried.

"I don't know." Bucky muttered. "I can't remember."

* * *

Bucky let out another pained yell as a powerful spasm shuddered his body.

Steve ran a hand comfortingly through his sweat soaked hair. His metal arm was bent over his head; Tony was in the process of taking out the bullet from his forearm. He shifted another wire and Bucky yelled again as a jolt like lightning shot through him.

"Tony, I think we should stop." Steve warned. "He's too weak to continue."

Bucky shook his head stubbornly. "No…" He breathed the word in between his panting. "I c-can do it."

He had been injected with something that had numbed the pain, but it still hurt. Tony had warned him it would. Memory flickered in his mind for a heartbeat. Memories of scientists and experimentations. Another surge of pain rushed in his blood, and he used his remaining strength to push out a cry of anguish.

"Sorry, sorry. I've nearly got it." Tony told him.

"Just one more, Buck." Steve murmured, his voice soothing. "It'll be over soon."

Bucky was trembling now, weak with exhaustion. His body convulsed as Tony pushed the final wire out the way, but he didn't have enough strength to scream anymore. Tony carefully extracted the bullet from his forearm. As soon as he took it out, Bucky's arm whirred and jerked. His fist met Tony's chest, smacking him with such, unnatural force, that he was thrown across the room.

He hit the wall with a loud thump, sliding down to the floor and laying there on his side, unmoving.

"Tony!" Steve yelled, sprinting over to him.

He crouched beside Tony, taking hold of his shoulder and rolling him carefully onto his back. His eyes were shut, knocked out from the impact of hitting the wall. Steve rested his head on Tony's chest, listening for a heartbeat. He let out a quiet breath of relief. The pace was strong and steady.

Steve gripped his hand in Tony's, using the other to lift the unconscious man's head off the floor.

"Tony?" He whispered, fear rising by the second. "Tony, can you hear me?"

No response.

He suddenly noticed a warm liquid drip through his fingers and stiffened. Gently laying Tony's head back on the floor, he looked at his hand. There was blood on it, scarlet against his skin.

Letting Tony's hand fall from his, Steve leapt up sprinting over to Bucky's bed and grabbing a medical kit from underneath it. He paused for a second, pressing his fingers to Bucky's neck, checking his pulse. Once he was satisfied he was breathing properly, Steve raced back over to Tony.

Kneeling next to Tony, he carefully lifted the unconscious man onto his lap. Steve took a cloth from the medical kit, holding it to the back of Tony's head. It quickly darkened with his blood. After a few minutes, Tony stirred, moving his head slightly. He let out a quiet moan, raising a hand to his forehead.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked quietly.

"What happened?" Tony groaned, his palm on his forehead.

"You got knocked out." Steve explained, adjusting his grip on the cloth a little. "Are you okay?" He repeated the earlier question.

"Head hurts like hell and I think I've broken a rib or two." Tony muttered. "But apart from that, yeah." His eyes suddenly shot open. "Oh god, is Bucky okay?"

He began to try and struggle up, but was quickly detained by Steve.

"He's fine, he's fine. Unconscious, but okay. Now lie down and stay still." Steve ordered, pushing him down as he attempted to get up.

He eventually managed to make Tony relax enough to stop struggling, pressing the cloth harder against his head to prevent any more of the dark, crimson blood from escaping. Tony lifted a hand to his chest, laying it on the left side of his ribcage and wincing in pain.

"Well anyway," Tony muttered through gritted teeth. "That seemed to work… Though I should've probably seen it coming."

Steve smiled. "Stealing catchphrases now are we?"

"Since when did we have catchphrases?" Tony retorted; the corner of his mouth rose in a half smile. "I wouldn't be here if we were that cliché."

"Point taken."

Tony shut his eyes, his face twitching slightly in pain. It was when his grimace relaxed, that Steve noticed he was slipping into unconsciousness. Reaching out a hand, Steve touched his fingers to Tony's cheek and quietly called his name. His eyes flickered open, his unfocused gaze wandering about the ceiling.

"Hey, look at me."

Tony squeezed his eyes shut for a heartbeat, blinking a few times before his gaze found Steve. The soldier brushed his dark hair back, looking at him closely, like he was assessing his health. Letting out a quiet breath, Tony pushed his hands against the floor, moving so he was sitting with his back to the wall. Steve drew the cloth away as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Careful." He warned putting a hand on Tony's shoulder as he began to get up, using the wall for support.

Tony waved him off. "I'm fine."

He raised a hand to the back of his head. It was still bleeding. Remembering Bucky, he took a step towards him. His vision swam and he stumbled. Steve held him up, his hands on either side of Tony.

"Steady. Steady."

Tony shook his head to clear his sight. It took a moment, but it eventually stopped wavering. He shrugged Steve away and continued to Bucky, standing beside his bed.

Steve was surprised. He was surprised that Tony wasn't afraid of Bucky even though he had just smashed him into a wall. Bucky shuffled, speaking in between heaving in the air. Steve strained to hear his words.

"No… Falling… C-Can't breathe… Snow…" He gasped the words, twitching as if he was in pain. "S-Soviet… Where's Steve… Arm… Hydra… I… C-Can't…" He let out a scream of anguish, his head thrashing from side to side.

Tony attempted to exchange a worried glance with Steve, but he wasn't looking. His eyes were fixed on Bucky, wide with shock.

"He's remembering." Steve whispered quietly. "Oh god…"

Bucky screamed again "No, stop!" He paused to gasp in the air. "It… Hurts… Pain…" He broke off to let out another yell. "I can't… Who… I'm not… Cold, s-so cold… Can't… Shield… A m-man… on the b-bridge."

Steve stiffened. Bucky was remembering _everything_. Every _one._ Everyone he killed. Everything that had happened since his, apparent, 'death'. His heart twisted as Bucky pushed out another scream.

"Stop! Stop, it hurts!"

His eyes suddenly shot open. He sat bolt up onto his knees, slamming his metal arm down on Steve's chest and pinning his torso down on the bed.

"No!" He shouted. "Don't touch it!"

"I'm not touching it!" Steve decided it was best just to go along with it. He put his hands to his shoulders, showing Bucky that he wasn't doing anything. He had no idea what he was talking about, but what was aware of was that Bucky could very easily kill him with one movement.

Bucky's eyes widened, suddenly seeming to realise what he was doing. He shakily released Steve, drawing his arm back and slipping off the side of the bed. He backed into a corner, breathing heavily.

"I-I'm a murderer." Bucky whispered.

He slid down the wall, sitting on the floor with his knees up, burying his face in his arms.

Tony sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling weak and faint, his vision swimming. Steve cast him a questioning look from the corner of his eye, clearing meaning _'are you okay?'_ He nodded and waved him away. Steve looked dubious but didn't press him, walking over to Bucky and crouching beside him.

"Buck," He began. "It wasn't your fault..."

"But I killed them… I wanted them to die." Bucky was trembling now, his voice quiet. "I nearly killed _you_." He added, looking up at Steve.

His eyes were deep pools of misery, though now there was not a trace of confusion.

"It wasn't your fault." Steve repeated, willing Bucky to see. "They wiped your mind. It was them. It was Hydra. It wasn't you, because they…"

As he continued talking, trying to persuade his friend he was not to blame, Bucky's gaze focused on a point over his shoulder. He suddenly sprang up, leaping over to the bed with lightning fast reactions, and catching Tony as he collapsed off the bed. He carefully lowered him onto the ground, laying his head down gently. Steve raced over, kneeling next to Tony, whose eyelids were flickering, threatening to close.

"Don't pass out on me." Steve muttered under his breath, his hand to Tony's heart. "Tony, hey." He lightly slapped the side of Tony's face a few times causing him to fully open his eyes, narrowing them slightly. "Stay awake."

Tony flicked his cloudy gaze around the ceiling, fighting to stay conscious. _What the heck is going on?_ He asked himself. His vision was blurred, dimming rapidly. Someone rolled him onto his side and he took in a sharp breath, the pain in his ribs intensifying.

Steve moved Tony to his side, inspecting the wound on the back of his head. It was bleeding heavily, the dark scarlet liquid dripping off his hair onto the floor. He couldn't even see the injury through all the blood. Quickly fetching the medical kit, Steve pressed a cloth to Tony's head, mopping up the blood.

"You still with us Stark?"

"Yeah." Tony mumbled, half irritated that he was being fussed over by Steve.

 _So much for pride._ It was in Steve's nature, he had noticed. _Why isn't he a doctor or something?_ Tony was suddenly appreciative for Steve's compassion. _I could be dead without him._ Darkness pressed on his vision. _Damn it, I smacked my head and now I'm dying. Great(!) Hang on… How does that work? Did I really loose that much blood?_

"Tony… Tony!"

Steve's voice muffled and faded as Tony slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

 **A/N- Sorry to people who don't like longer chapters. It was either a really short one or a really long one. I chose the latter.**  
 **Anyway, let me know what you think in the reviews. Have a good day/month/year/general life. :D Yay!**


	25. Chapter 25

"What happened again?"

"He was fixing Bucky's arm and it malfunctioned or whatever. And he smacked him into a wall."

"Well that wasn't very polite."

"It wasn't his fault!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down. Never said it was."

Tony dimly heard the voices, muffled by the sound of his own, beating, heart. He was lying on his back in, presumably, a bed, facing the ceiling. His left hand was laid over his stomach, the other at his side. Pain throbbed in his head and he slowly raised his right hand, touching the back of it. The voices fell into silence as he moved. A hand touched his arm.

"Tony?"

He flickered open his eyes, immediately shutting them at the new light.

"Jesus Christ." He muttered, inspiring a short breath of laughter from someone to his left.

Opening his eyes again, he blinked a few times, clearing his sight. He swallowed painfully, raising his head and looking around. He was in a hospital room, not a clue which, and Steve was sat on the right side of his bed. Clint was stood on his left, arms folded, and a smile on his face as he looked down at Tony.

"What up Tone?"

"Please don't tell me I passed out." Tony murmured.

"Okay." Clint replied, face falling a little.

A moment of silence stretched out and Tony groaned dropping his head back down, annoyed with himself. _I freaking passed out…_ Pressing his hands against the bed, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Steve tense, like he was about to try and help. _I don't need help,_ Tony thought, angrily. _Quit worrying about me._

"What're you doing here anyway?" Tony looked to Clint, leaning back against the wall. "Aren't you, like, unstable?"

The archer smiled and tapped a finger to his temple. "I got it sorted. Don't worry man. You'll be glad to know I'm not completely crazy anymore-" Tony smirked. "-And I can control this telekinetic misty thing. Cross fingers. Though, I gotta say…" Clint grinned mischievously. "Red isn't my colour."

Tony let out a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, blacks more your thing, right?"

Clint grunted in agreement. "Reckon black'd make me look like a bad guy."

His face darkened briefly and the archer shook his head, obviously scattering a negative thought. Tony didn't ask. He had learnt that there were some things you didn't share with people, and you wouldn't want them to pry.

"How's Bucky?" Tony asked, changing the subject and turning his head to face Steve.

"He's fine. His arm's working well." Steve waved a hand to the door. "He's in the room opposite."

Clint let out an amused breath and Tony whipped his head round to look at him.

"Yeah, super soldier here has been drifting in and out of yours and Bucky's rooms like a ping pong ball." Clint commented, nodding to Steve. "In fact…" He broke off, tapping a finger to his mouth and looking up at the ceiling in teasing thought. "Nope. I don't think he's spent time anywhere else."

Tony glanced at Steve. His eyes were narrowed as he mock-glared at Clint.

"Oh come on Steve. Don't deny it." Clint went on. "Although, I'm not entirely sure which room you spent the most time in."

Tony frowned to himself. Surely Steve would have stayed with Bucky all the time. They were best friends after all. Compared to Bucky, Tony was like an ant. An ant among two lions.

"That's a very poetic line Tony." Clint smirked. "You should write that down."

 _Shit._

"Language."

"Can you not?" Tony couldn't help but smile. Clint was reading his mind. It was odd to know that the archer could hear his thoughts.

Clint smiled back at him. "You shouldn't think so loud then."

* * *

"I'm not sure if you should-"

Steve was silenced by the look that Clint gave him. All three of them were stood outside Bucky's room. Why Clint wanted to see him, Steve had no idea. He didn't think it was a _good_ idea though. Though he couldn't picture it, he was a little concerned that Clint would try and get revenge for Bucky killing him. That was a weird thought. Clint had died. Bucky had literally murdered him.

Tearing his eyes away from the archer's stony gaze, Steve opened the door and walked into the room.

Bucky was sat on the edge of bed, staring at the floor with unfocused eyes, hugging himself around the waist. His shirt was slung over the back of a chair next to his bed. A bandage was wrapped around his chest, covering the bullet wound close to his heart. He didn't look well. He looked tired and sad, frowning like he was thinking. He looked up as Steve, Tony and Clint came into the room. His eyes wandered over each of them, finally fixing on Clint. He swallowed, memory dancing in his eyes like minnows.

"You…" He muttered, his voice quiet.

"Me." Clint replied bluntly, his eyes unusually kind as he looked at Bucky.

"You're… Dead." Bucky said slowly. "I-I killed you…"

Clint could see he was beginning to panic. His breathing was getting faster by the second, his eyes flicking around Clint as if he couldn't believe he was there. He wasn't panicking because Clint had come back from the dead. He wasn't panicking because he thought Clint might try and hurt him. He was panicking because of what he had done. He was absolutely horrified that he had murdered the archer.

"Hydra… Experimented on you…" Bucky was gasping for air now and Steve rushed over to him, repeatedly telling him it wasn't his fault. Bucky seemed not to notice him, his eyes still set on Clint. "They… They needed someone… To test it on… I-I kill…"

Clint sprinted over to him. He hardly knew this guy. Heck, this guy had ended his life for a while. But that didn't matter. He was scared. He was panicking. His mind had been messed with. That was enough to make Clint feel the need to help him. He sat beside him on the bed, taking Bucky's face in his hands.

 _'It wasn't your fault. You know that. You can stop blaming yourself now.'_ He sent the message into Bucky's mind, scarlet mist shrouding his fingers, which were pressed to the distressed man's temples. Bucky obviously heard, his wide eyed stare fixed on Clint, hardly ever blinking.

"Steve, how long has he been awake?" Clint asked, not taking his gaze off Bucky.

"Why do you-"

"Quickly Steve!"

"I-I'm not sure. At least as long as Tony slept. Day and a half?"

 _Makes it easier then._ Clint said nothing, concentrating on Bucky again, whose breathing was worryingly fast and showed no signs of calming down.

"Wasn't your fault." Murmured Clint. "You didn't kill those people. Hydra did. They just used you as a puppet. I know. I've been there." Bucky eyelids began to flicker, letting Clint know that his efforts to put him to sleep were working. "Let the guilt fade. Don't think about it now. Just let go." He carefully lowered Bucky, lying him down on the bed, his legs hanging off the side. "That's it." He whispered as Bucky's eyes fluttered shut. "Let go."

Bucky let out a quiet sigh, his head falling to the side as his body relaxed completely. Clint eased his mind away from Bucky's, slipping off the bed and taking a few steps back. Quickly scrambling onto the bed, Steve knelt beside his friend and took his pulse. He exhaled a breath of relief as the steady beat vibrated through his fingers.

"What did you do?" Steve asked, turning to look at Clint.

The archer was unsteady on his feet, swaying slightly.

"He was panicking too much. I needed to calm him." Clint explained, a little out of breath. "Needed to convince him it wasn't his fault… That… That was new… Never done that before."

He suddenly stumbled backwards, honestly looking like he was about to faint. Tony prevented him from falling, putting one hand on the archers back, the other on his chest.

"Whoa, steady Hawk." He warned. "Come and sit down before you hurt yourself."

Clint allowed Tony to help him to a chair, to the right of the door, sitting down heavily, his vision swimming. Blinking a few times, he shook his head to clear his blurred sight.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine… Still learning." Clint mumbled, briefly glancing up at Tony. "It's got boundaries. And I need to learn them."

The sound of the door opening almost interrupted his words and Pietro poked his head in. His gaze wandered around the room for a moment before his eyes rested on Clint and he entered the room. He crouched down in front of the archer, looking up at him closely. Obviously seeing that Clint's breathing was quicker than usual, Pietro frowned.

"What happened?"

"Bucky was majorly stressing out so Clint used his power to calm him down." Tony replied before Clint could answer. Pietro straightened up, getting back to his feet, worry bright in his eyes as Tony continued. "And he's a complete moron because now he can't stand up."

Clint fought the urge to punch him. "I can."

"Prove it."

 _Oh, I am gonna kill him._ Clint didn't think his legs would support him, but no way in hell was he going to let anyone know. With a silent intake of breath, he pushed his hands against the seat, hauling himself to his feet. Sure enough…

"Careful."

Pietro caught him before he fell, pushing up back upright.

"Told you."

"It's not funny Tony." Pietro half growled the words as he supported Clint, stopping him from falling.

"Never said it was." Tony murmured.

Pietro didn't reply, turning his attention back to Clint. The archer, who was leaning against his shoulder, was blinking in confusion, his eyes clouded and drowsy. _He needs to rest._ Pietro lifted Clint's arm, slinging it around his neck and opening the door. Clint leant on him heavily, doing his best to walk normally as they made their way down the corridor. Making someone sleep had tested his power. Though, he wasn't sure if it was simply because he hadn't tried it enough times, or if it was just too much effort. Pietro took him into his room, sitting him down on the edge of the bed.

"How're you feeling?" He asked, sitting down next to him.

"Fine." Clint muttered curtly.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Pietro's expression switch to doubt.

"Why did you help him?" Pietro asked suddenly. "Why did you help Bucky?"

Clint looked at the younger man, fixing him with an oddly unnerving stare. "Because he's like me. Because someone messed with his head and made him kill people…" Clint shrugged. "Because… He's one of us."

* * *

 **A/N-**  
 **Hey Guys! Hope you're enjoying this story so far! (Let me know in the reviews/comments/whatever you wanna call them)**

 **Okay, really sorry but I won't be updating for a while because i'm going away for about a week (and a few days longer so a week and 3 days. But no ones like a pedantic person, am I right? XD).**

 **I'll try write and update as soon as I can when I get back. This is just to let you know why i'm not posting chapters for the next week (In case you thought I had stopped writing :D Hah! As if. This is literally all I do, I have no social life. Fun fact for you there and now i'm rambling, sorry). For you people who read all or most of my stories, this message will be posted on all of them too, so might it get a bit boring. So yeah... You all have a good week and I'll see you when I get back.**

 **~Eniko**


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